Shouldn't
by ddpjclaf
Summary: I shouldn't have looked at him. I shouldn't have kissed him. And I definitely shouldn't have done what I did with him afterward. Not with a friend, especially a friend who was my best friend's ex. AU/AH OOC Non-canon coupling. Mature.
1. Reemergence

****Disclaimer: All Twilight characters are the property of Stephenie Meyer. Only the words herein are the property of ddpjclaf 2013. Please do not copy, translate, or repost without express written permission.**  
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_Well, this is VERY different for me. For 1, it's not The Mortal Instruments (I KNOW!). For 2, it's first person, present. I don't write this, I don't write LIKE this, but fanfiction has always been a way for me to stretch my wings and test my comfort zone as a writer, so, here I go!_

_I have no idea where this is going to lead, if anywhere. I'm just writing. You can follow along if you'd like and see where this might go, or not. But if you do, well, hopefully we'll have fun!_

_This is unbeta'd for now, and it's starting off with short, drabbly kind of chapters. And yes, it's Jasper and Bella, because, well, I have a thing for Jasper._

_(Read, Smut, well, you asked for it!)_

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_**Shouldn't**  
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_**Chapter One: Reemergence **_

I shouldn't look at him.

It's been four years, and I still shouldn't.

My eyes flicker across the pool hall once more, return to the drink in my hand, and back to him again. I can't believe he's here. Why is he here?

He's bent over the table, his fingers loose on the end of the pool stick, his brows knitted together in concentration under the cowboy hat on his head. His jeans fit just as perfectly as they always did, but his white t-shirt is tighter, unable to conform exactly as it had to his newer, more muscular body. The dog tags are new and dangle from his neck, catching the low bar lights as they twist and turn. He hasn't seen me, and I'm glad, because I don't know if I can handle it if he does.

His fingers tighten on the end of the pool stick, and I fight against the urge to close my eyes, to remember how those fingers felt on my skin, how his blond locks stuck to his head when he took that same hat off, how it looked hanging on my wall. _God, stop it, Bella, stop it._

"So, Jasper's back, I see."

I jump a little at the sound of Rosalie's voice. Turning back to the bar, I shrug and look back down at my drink, hopefully hiding the heat spreading across my cheeks. No one knows about what happened that night between Jasper Whitlock and me. And no one is going to. "Yeah. I guess so."

Was that nonchalant? I hope so. It's what I was going for.

Rosalie tosses the bar towel down on the wooden counter and leans forward on her elbows. "Alice's gonna go ape-shit when she hears."

I finally look up and frown. "Why would Alice care? She dumped him years ago."

Rosalie snorts. "She did that shit just to make him change his mind about leaving. God," she laughs, "and you called yourself her best friend?"

I sway back just slightly. I don't want to be reminded of what I called myself back then. My friendship with Alice has simmered down some since high school—as many relationships like that do—but we are still friends. Although, I'm not sure we would be if she ever knew. "She didn't say anything to me. Not then, and not any time after that. I thought she was into James and that's why she dropped Jasper."

"James? Jesus, IzzyB, how dense are you?" She slings the towel back over her shoulder and pours refills for a couple of guys down the bar, spilling some onto the wood. When she returns, she wipes up her mess and shakes her head. "You had to have known it was all about him enlisting."

I swallow hard. Yeah. I probably should have, but . . . "I didn't. I swear."

"Well," Rosalie tilts her chin toward another patron asking for a drink and gathers a glass to pour it. "We all know Alice is a bit of a nutcracker. Always was, always will be. I think she thought dumping him was the only way to make him stay." Rosalie slides the drink down the bar. "Obviously that didn't work out so well."

"Obviously not," I mutter, remembering vividly the day Jasper left for boot camp, a single bag slung over his shoulder, head recently shaved by the town barber, the anticipation twinkling in his gaze as he peered over his shoulder at the group of us who came to see him off. Everyone around me had hooted and hollered as the bus started to move, but I didn't say a word, because I was watching him watch me. I was watching his eyes change from confident, excited, and sure, to doubt, a slight bit of fear, and a whole lot of "what if".

A loud cheer rises up in the back of the bar, and I turn toward it without thinking. Rosalie's brother, Edward, is slapping Jasper on the back, and Jasper is smiling. For some reason, that makes me lose my breath. I lower my gaze to catch it and then lift it again, but when I do, his eyes are on me, and God, they're the same.

The same as they were that night.

The same as they were after I'd tried my best to comfort him after Alice had shattered his heart.

The same as they were when I'd leaned in and kissed him.

And I could see it all again, hear it, feel it.

"What was that for?" Jasper had asked when I pulled away, stunned. Mortified.

"I—I—I—. I'm—I'm sorry." I tried to look away, but he'd stopped me by grabbing my chin. His fingers were rough, calloused from working on his father's ranch, but, in that moment, they'd made me shiver unlike anyone's ever had.

"Don't," he said, his voice soft and trembling. "Don't look away. Tell me. What was that for?"

"Jasper . . ."

"Please, Bella Mia, what was that for?"

My breath hitched at the name. Jasper always called me "Bella Mia", instead of my real name, Bella Marie. It had always been in a playful, friendly way, and it was much better than Bella Smella, which is what he'd called me in grade school, so I'd never really given it a second thought. But this time, this time it was . . . different, more.

He moved in closer then, his mouth only inches from mine, his breath all over my skin, seeping inside, changing things, changing me. Making me feel things I shouldn't have felt, making me want things I shouldn't have wanted—especially from a friend, a friend who was my _best_ friend's very recent ex.

"I don't know," I whispered, ashamed of what I'd done, ashamed of what I felt building inside me. "I just . . . I wanted . . . I don't know."

Jasper was silent, too silent, and when I looked up, it had been his eyes that had made me kiss him again.

As I stare across the room now, his eyes are the same: deep, questioning, and filled with even more "what ifs".

He slowly removes his hat and brings it down to his stomach, sliding his long, slender fingers along the rim, like he always used to. His blond hair is matted and a little sweaty, just how I knew it would be, and even now, after four long years, seeing him like that still makes my stomach squirm. Because I remember how he looked back then, standing inside the door frame to my room, holding his hat just like that, only a tall, lean silhouette against the back-lit hall.

I recall how hard my heart beat as I crossed the shaggy carpet toward him, how I'd looked up into his unsure gaze, how I'd gently taken the hat from his shaky fingers, and how I'd placed it with my own on the hook on my wall.

I can still recollect how the buttons of his shirt pressed almost painfully into my palm as I fisted the material and dragged him inside, and how warm his hand had been when he'd cupped the side of my neck, as I removed the material from his body.

But most of all, I remember how it had felt to be with him that way—a way neither of us had ever thought of being together before.

I remember everything about that night. All the wrong, and all the right.

And I remember why no one can ever know.

I clear my throat and turn back to face Rosalie. She's watching me with suspicion, and I know if she pays any closer attention, she'll figure it all out. I jump down from the stool and throw some money onto the bar. "Well, I should get back to the old grind."

Rosalie rolls her eyes. "IzzyB, you have no grind. You're an unemployed English major living in my basement. You can stay longer. Really, what will it hurt?"

She has no idea. I scrunch my nose and gather my bag. I need to leave. "I shouldn't—"

"Bella Mia?"

The familiar voice calling my name makes my eyes close involuntarily, and I hear it again, only from years ago.

"Bella Mia, we shouldn't," he said, but his hands were still pulling up my shirt, his mouth still sucking at my neck, his hips still moving against mine. He lowered his head and nipped along my collarbone. "God, we shouldn't."

"I know," I said. My head fell back of its own accord, and my hands plunged into his hair, holding him there, right there.

"What are we doing?" he panted against my skin. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know." I tugged at him, because I didn't know, but I couldn't stop. "We . . . we should . . . stop?" It was a question because I didn't know. I didn't know . . .

Jasper nodded his head yes, but he pushed me harder into the wall anyway, his mouth descending on mine in a way it hadn't before. In a way no ones had before. I shouldn't have been kissing him like that. I shouldn't have been touching him like that. He was my friend, my _best_ friend's ex. It was girl code. It was forbidden. But I couldn't think with his hands on me, with his mouth on me, with his tongue stroking mine. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. And then he lifted me up, my legs going around his waist, and then I was on my bed.

"Tell me to stop," he begged, pleaded. "Please."

But I didn't answer. I couldn't. And then my nails were in his back, and he was groaning my name, and our pants were gone, and he was inside me, and I couldn't. Breathe.

Oh God, I couldn't _breathe_.

And when he says my name again now, I can't breathe still.

"Bella Mia?"

I shouldn't have looked at him then. I shouldn't have comforted him. I shouldn't have kissed him. But I did.

And I shouldn't answer him now. I shouldn't turn around. I shouldn't look at him again.

But I do.

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_So . . . drabbly, yeah? This is just something I'm playing around with. Hope you enjoyed this installment. :)_

_XOXO, ddpjclaf_


	2. Reacquaintance

**Chapter Two "Reacquaintance"**

_Here we go with the second installment.  
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_This is still unbeta'd, still OOC, and my disclaimer from Ch.1 still stands._

_Enjoy!_

_(Pssst: this is JPOV, so the missing gs and the combined/mispelled words are intentional because he has a heavy southern accent. :) He's not the type to have super bad grammar though, so there is that . . . I actually read this aloud in a southern accent to try and get it right. The things I do for a story . . .)  
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The first time I saw Bella Swan, I'd a sworn she was a boy. Her hair was cut short and choppy, her face covered in dirt, and she smelled like she'd been rollin' 'round in a swamp for five days, which may have been the case, since her overalls were covered in green slime, and a toad was peekin' outta her pocket.

The last time I saw her, she looked like the name I'd given her in tenth grade. Bella Mia. Bella had always been a pretty girl, but it wasn't until that night that I'd really noticed how pretty. Her short brown hair had grown out and was long and flowin' down her back, her face was clean and mostly devoid of make up, and she no longer smelled like she'd been rollin' 'round in a swamp.

She smelled like she'd been rollin' 'round in me.

It wasn't somethin' I'd ever imagined or even considered before then, but I liked it more than I probably should have.

Tonight, she doesn't look like either of those Bellas. I'd seen Edward's sister, Rosalie, talkin' to some girl at the bar when I'd come in, but I hadn't spared her a second thought.

Until she turned 'round.

The hair was different, shorter, and styled in a messy, layered way, with streaks of light and dark gold throughout, but the eyes were the same. Soulful. Tellin'. Afraid.

Bella.

I hadn't wasted a moment waitin' 'round to see if she'd come to me. If I knew Bella Swan, and I was pretty sure I did, she'd avoid me like a boil on a pig. She'd never been good in uncomfortable situations, and what we had goin' on was beyond uncomfortable. It's never easy to randomly run into your one-night-stand, and, truthfully, that's what we'd made each other by not talkin' again afterward.

I admit that was my decision. I'm the one who left, who didn't write, who didn't call, and that was pretty shitty of me, considerin' we'd been friends since that first meetin'. But with the way things ended that night, I didn't see any other way to honor her wishes.

My body was still comin' down, shocks and shivers coursing over me as I hovered above her, both of us sweatin' and out of breath. Bella's chest heaved and her thighs trembled around my hips. My shoulders stung from where she'd dug me, and my mouth felt sore and overused. But I wasn't complainin'. Bella had taken me from my lowest low to my highest high, all in the course of fifteen minutes. Never in my life had I been kissed so deep, or held so tight, or come so hard.

I'd had sex before, lots of sex with Ally especially, in different places and in different positions, but it had never felt like this. She'd always been so much more reserved and picky about where I kissed her and where I touched her. Bella was nothin' like Ally. She hadn't once complained about where I put my hands or my mouth, in fact, when I reached a spot she liked, she held my face against her harder and asked for my tongue. I had never been so open, so carnal, so . . . raw with another person.

I never knew I'd been missin' out on this.

It hadn't been long enough for my mind to clear the post-orgasmic cloud it was floatin' in, but from the look on Bella's face, it'd been enough for hers. Her hair was a tangled mess around her pillow, and her eyes darker than I'd ever seen them.

And it was then that she changed from merely pretty, to beautiful.

I lifted my upper half slightly, leavin' us connected on the lower, because I was still way too sensitive to move there, and peered down at her. I slipped a finger under a strand of hair that was plastered to her forehead and plucked it off and away.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice still rough and out of breath.

It took Bella a moment to look at me, but when she did, I saw it happen in her eyes. It was like a veil had lifted, and she saw me, she _really_ saw me, and the realization of what just happened crashed over her. Her whole face opened up, and shut right back down again.

"Oh," she said. "Oh no." She covered her face with her hands, and I could hear the sobs startin'. "Oh no. Oh no. Oh no."

"Bella?" I said. "Bella, look at me." I tried to pry her hands from her face, but she slapped me away. "Bella, please—"

"No!" she said, finally removin' her hands, but shovin' against my shoulders in the next instance.

I moved off from her, and she was up out of the bed, shakin' her head and grabbin' at the comforter to cover herself.

"Bella," I tried again. "Just calm down, okay? Let's just calm down—"

"Calm down?" She whirled on me, her gaze blazin'. "Calm down? I can't calm down, Jasper! We just . . . I mean we . . ." Her hand floundered toward the bed, before it covered her mouth once more and she sank to the floor. "Oh my God, we just . . ." Her eyes grew wide again. "Alice . . . Alice is going to kill me."

A spike of anger stabbed into my heart at the mention of _her _name, and my voice came out harsher than I'd intended, as did my accent. "Ally ain't got nothin' to say about this, Bella Mia."

"But I'm her best friend, and you're her—"

"I don't belong to her. She made sure of that herself!" My voice echoed off the walls, and Bella covered her face once more. A bit of remorse for my outburst came over me, and I slid off the bed and settled in front of her. "I'm sorry for shoutin', darlin'" I said, tuckin' her hair behind her shoulders with both hands. "I just don't want to hear about Alice Brandon. I don't give a shit about her or her feelin's right about now."

"But I do, Jasper." Bella lifted her face, and there were no tears, but her remorse was evident. And I gotta say, it didn't do much for the ego. "She's my best friend, and despite what she did today, I know she loved you."

"Loved," I said. "ED. Past tense. She doesn't get a say anymore."

"That's where you're wrong," Bella said. "She will get a say, she always does. She's Emmett's step-sister, Edward and Rosalie's cousin. You're Edward and Emmett's best friend. I'm hers and Rosalie's. She'll get a damn say."

She was right. Dammit, she was. Alice Brandon may not have deserved a say in who I chose to sleep with, but she sure as hell had influence over the people Bella and I held company with. It sucked, but it was true.

"Okay," I said. "So what do you propose we do about . . ." I gestured between our still naked bodies. "this."

Bella glanced down and her cheeks burned red. She looked away quickly and stood, the comforter from the bed cinched tight around her. "Well, first, we need to get dressed. And second . . ." she trailed off, trappin' her lip between her teeth.

I grabbed my jeans from the pile they'd been in on the floor, and stood. "And second?"

Her eyes met mine. "And second, we forget any of this ever happened."

And now that it's four years later, after I've been through so much, seen so much, done so much, and I'm standin' here lookin' down at her, I can't remember a single reason why I agreed. I can't remember why a girl who'd so callously thrown my feelin's away for a short-lived romp with the high school quarterback, had so much influence over what we did back then, because as I look at Bella now, all I can see is her face as she'd shuddered beneath me that night.

Her expression is guarded, almost . . . scared, like she wants to be anywhere but here. And then I see it, the way her eyes flicker to the side and behind me. She's not scared of seein' me, she's scared of them bein' able to see _her_, of them knowin' what we know.

Since she's not doin' herself any favors, and only succeedin' in makin' herself look guiltier by the moment, I do the only thing I can think of. I scoop her up and hold her tight against me. It's awkward as hell at first. She's all stiff and unmovin', her hands smooshed against the front of my shoulders, as if she's tryin' to push me away.

I turn my face into her neck, and I'm assaulted with the scent of strawberries. Jesus, it's exactly the same, and it takes everything I have not to let myself go back there. I close my eyes for a brief moment, and then speak lowly in her ear.

"Relax, darlin', it'll look worse if you don't hug me back."

It takes Bella a few seconds, but finally, I feel her surrender, and her arms wrap around my neck. "Sorry. I'm sorry. You just . . . you surprised me," she says, and her breath is so warm against my skin. Even after four years, I feel the same intimacy, the same shift from what we were, to what we _are_.

And I don't have a damn clue what that is.

I've been with women since Bella Swan, but none of them struck me like she did. Maybe it was the circumstances surroundin' that night, the vulnerability and hurt I'd been feelin', or maybe it was somethin' else. All I know is that, in one instant, she went from being the girl I'd grown up with, who I'd played leap frog and hide and seek with, the girl I'd teased and pulled on her braids, to the girl I know has a birthmark on the inside of her left thigh, who giggles when I run my fingers over her lower stomach, and who whispers my name when I move inside her.

Yeah, I know things about her, but I don't know where the hell that leaves us now.

Bella pulls back, and I reluctantly let her go, settin' her back on her feet. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, just like she used to, and I can't stop myself from rememberin' how she tasted when I sucked on that lip myself. I wonder if she thinks about me, if she thinks about that night. Does she remember how I taste, and smell, and feel, like I remember about her? Does she know that the whimper she made when I'd first slid inside of her sometimes plays on repeat in my mind? Did she forget like she said she was going to? Does she know how much I'm dyin' to ask her?

"You look different," I finally say.

"Oh, yeah," she says. "It's the hair." She yanks on a strand and rolls her eyes. "I lost a bet. Don't ask."

I chuckle and shove my hands in my pockets—they're gettin' antsy, and she's standin' much too close for that.

"You look . . ." she says, and I notice the way her gaze slides over me, "almost exactly the same."

"Almost?"

"Yeah, well, you're bigger now."

I raise a brow. "You sayin' I put on some weight, sugar?"

Her eyes widen. "No! No, I meant . . ." She frantically gestures to her arms, makin' some weird signal with her hands that I think is supposed to represent growin' biceps.

I laugh, and she scrunches her nose and hauls off and hits me in the shoulder. "Asshole. You know what I meant."

For a second, it feels like old times, like there isn't this . . . thing . . . between us, like she didn't ask me to forget it all. She's just Bella, and I'm just Jasper, and we're just old friends catchin' up after a long time. Like we hadn't ever created the proverbial nail that hangs above the coffin of all of our friendships, tauntin' us, remindin' us why we can't ever speak of it to anyone. Like we hadn't already pounded it into ours.

But as soon as it's there, it's gone, and we're no longer alone. Emmett bounds up and slaps me on the back, hard enough to send me pitchin' forward slightly, and Edward steps up beside Bella, slingin' his arm over her shoulder.

"Nice of you to join us tonight, Smella."

Bella twists to the side and lands a punch right to his gut. Edward curls over and coughs a few times before sittin' back into the chair behind him with a groan.

"Nice one, IzzyB!" Rosalie calls from behind the bar. "Hi, Jasper."

I smile and give a short wave, just as I see Bella glare down at Edward and kick him hard in the shin.

"I told you not to call me that back in the third grade! God, why did I ever go out with you?"

My heart stutters in my chest. When the hell did Bella go out with Edward?

"Because I'm an excellent lover?" Edward says, his breathin' almost back to normal. Bella kicks him again, and he laughs in that way us guys do when somethin' actually hurts but we don't want people to know about it. "Okay! Okay! Jesus." He rubs at his shin. "Just stop kicking me."

"Then stop saying stupid shit!" Bella says.

Edward's face falls. "How you wound me, Swan."

Emmett must notice my confusion, because his beer-laced breath is in my ear, tellin' me exactly what I want to know. "College, dude. You should have seen it. Crazy shit, those two. Edward turned into this pansy-assed, brooding whiner with control issues, and Bella got all mopey and self-depreciating. Not. Pretty."

"Shut up, you ass," Bella says, though her voice is amused. "I wasn't that bad. Edward was, but I was still okay."

"Keep talking, Smella." Edward curls in on himself as Bella takes another swing, nailin' him in the back this time.

"Why are you beating on my man again, Bells?" Edward's girlfriend, Kate, walks up to our group.

Edward clings to her legs. "Finally! My savior has arrived!"

"He called me Smella again," Bella says.

Kate swats him upside the head.

"Ow!"

"Grow up, Edward, and act your age. You're twenty-two years old, for Christ's sake," she says. "And you're starting to outdo Emmett on the ridiculousness scale."

"Yeah," Emmett says, between bites of some sandwich he found somewhere. "We all know I like to be the ridiculous one."

"Aw, come on, Katie." Edward stands, kisses Kate on the cheek, and slings his arm over Bella's shoulders once more. "Bella knows I'm just playing. Don't you, sweetheart?"

"Yes, but I'm still going to punch, hit, or kick any exposed part of you when you call me that. Just so we're clear."

"Crystal," he says, and lays a kiss on her cheek too.

Somethin' inside of me heats up at that action, and suddenly, I want to hit him too.

Rosalie comes out from behind the bar, jacket in hand, and just as she reaches us, the first bars of a familiar song blasts into the air. Bella and Rose both groan.

"Oh, no!" Emmett bellows, throwin' his half eaten sandwich (which I still have no idea where he got it) down on the bar. "No getting out of it this time. It's tradition."

"It's stupid," Rosalie says. "Come on, Em, my feet hurt, and I want a bath."

Emmett looks at her with what I think he assumes are puppy dog eyes, but comes off lookin' more like an angry Rottweiler instead.

Rosalie sighs and hands her coat back over the bar to the new bartender. "Fine," she says. "Who's your victim tonight?"

"Kate. I want Kate," he says, nearly bouncin' on his heels.

"Okay, what am I missing?" Kate asks, eyein' Emmett with what looks like a slight bit of fear.

"Switch-o Change-o," Edward says. "It's this thing our cousin Alice came up with back in high school. Whenever this song plays, we switch from our usual partners and dance with someone else's. I'm sorry, baby, but Emmett is _always_ a hog with the newbie."

"Oh," she says. "Okay, then." Emmett reaches out for her, wigglin' his fingers in some sort of strange, giddy come-hither motion. Kate looks frightened, and I don't blame her.

"Well, I guess I get Jasper then," Rose says, and I feel slightly disappointed.

"Wait, wait, wait," Edward says. "Why do you pick him?"

"Edward, I do not want to dance with my own brother. That's weird. And gross."

"But . . ." He eyes Bella, and she eyes him back. "I don't want to get hit again, and she's got that look in her eyes."

"I do not have a look—"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Rose says, grabbin' Edward's arm and pullin' him toward the dance floor. "Come on, you little shit."

And then that leaves two. Bella and me, and it's awkward as shit.

She doesn't say a word, and she doesn't look at me either, but I'm a man, and I'm not going to pussy-foot around this anymore. I hold out my hand, and she looks up at me, hesitation clear in her eyes.

"May I?" I ask.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out.

I lean in to her. "It's just a dance, Bella, I'm not askin' you to come home with me."

Her eyes widen and I see a spark of . . . somethin' in there. I don't want to guess about anything concernin' her, but I swear it looked a lot like disappointment. I want to ask, I want to ask so badly, but I don't. I just stand there, with my hand extended, waitin' for her to give me hers. And after several tension-filled seconds of "is she going to just let me stand here like a douche?", she does.

Her hand slips into mine, and I lead her out onto the dance floor. Edward and Rosalie are standin' at least two feet apart, only their hands touchin', and their asses bent out, as if those extra inches will make dancin' with your own sister okay. Emmett is twirlin' Kate around the room, and she's got her head back, laughin' at the ceilin'.

And I've got Bella's hand.

I've thought often about what it would be like to have it. Now I do.

And it makes me want even more.

We stop at the edge of the dance floor, and I don't hesitate to pull her closer. She gasps when our bodies align—because I'm not playin' that pussy shit like Edward and Rosalie—and I hold back a groan from how perfect it feels. She tentatively raises her hand to my shoulder, and I tuck the one I'm holdin' between us. Her head fits just under my chin, and her breath spreads across the front of my throat. She feels good in my arms, right, familiar, like she's spent years inside of them and not just one night.

So I hold her. I just hold her. And it all comes floodin' back: the flame that burned away everything I'd ever known about who we were the moment she kissed me, to how it had been doused with water and buried in the sand when she told me to forget.

I close my eyes and let it all in. I let myself remember, because even though it hurts, it feels so good. Bella loosens in my grip and leans her forehead against my chest. I want to ask her now. I want to know all the reasons and give her all of mine, but she's the one to speak first.

"You didn't call," she says, quiet. And I'm not sure I hear her right over the music. "You didn't write."

No, I heard her exactly right.

"I didn't think you wanted me to. You said you wanted to forget."

She's silent, and for a moment, so is the rest of the room. There are no other dancers, there is no music playin' in the background, there's just her and me. And she's in my arms again, her heart beatin' against mine, and I don't know how I'm going to let her go.

I turn my face into her neck, and her scent overwhelms me again. I want to press my lips to her throat. I want to suck her skin into my mouth and lick the line of her collarbone. But instead, I simply ask what I've been dyin' to, "Did you forget, Bella Mia? Like you said you would? Did you forget?"

Her fingers dig, just slightly, into my shoulders, and I think for a minute, she's not going to answer. And then she does.

"No."

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_As I said before, all of these characters are OOC (out of character), but I hope you like it anyway._

_XOXO ddpjclaf_

_(9Cs readers: yes, I'm still working on the next chapter. I'm writing these both at the same time.)_


	3. Redefine

**Chapter Three "Redefine"**

_So, apparently, I can't ramble. Is this really a shock? Sigh. Probably when the "flashbacks" are done the chapters will be shorter. Maybe? Probably not.  
_

_This is again unbeta'd, but I hope you enjoy despite the mistakes. Chapter 1 disclaimers still stand._

_See you at the bottom!_

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Despite the air conditioning, it's hotter than hell in my room.

I shouldn't be surprised; this is Houston in the summer after all. Which basically means: I live in a sauna. But that's not the reason I can't sleep.

The glowing green numbers on my alarm clock glare the ridiculous time into the dark: 3:29 a.m. I groan and roll over onto my back. Heat lightning flashes outside the tiny rectangular window near the ceiling and reflects off the smooth surface of my walls. I've been lying here watching nature's light show ever since I returned home from the pool hall five hours ago. Ever since he walked back into my life.

My mind keeps going over and over everything: every word, every look, every inch of skin he brushed or touched, and especially the way that he watched me, his eyes full of questions I had no answers to, as I backed away from him without a word after we danced.

I haven't thought much about Jasper Whitlock in . . . three years or so? Obviously at first it was all I could concentrate on. Whenever Ally and I hung out, the knowledge of what I'd done—what we'd done—ate away at me, little by little every day, and I can't even count how many times I'd almost told her. But then one day . . . one day it was less, the guilt, the memory. And the next it was less again, until finally, _finally_, it didn't consume me anymore.

I hadn't forgotten him or what we'd done, and there were still times something would trigger a memory of his hands, or his tongue, or the way my name sounded in his mouth when he let go. But it was no longer a penance for me. It was a memory, something that belonged in the past with the rest of my mistakes. It didn't need to define me.

But now he's back, and with him are all of those feelings I'd stored away: the guilt, the shame, the confusion. And there's also something else, something I didn't expect, something I don't even know how to describe, but it's pushing at the walls of my chest and tingling in the tips of my fingers. And it's getting stronger the longer I lie here thinking about him.

I kick at the sheet surrounding me and free my body from its confines. Frustration seeps into every part of me. I can't relax; I can't clear my mind at all. Everything just keeps replaying like a song set on repeat: the things that happened back then and the things that happened tonight. It's as if Jasper's burrowed a hole in my brain and I can't get him out.

It's a given that his presence rattles me. Why wouldn't it? What happened between us all those years ago is something I could never explain. Even now, when I look back on it, I still don't know how it happened. One minute I was listening to him, comforting him over the loss of a two-year relationship, and then . . .

"I don't understand," Jasper said, his head tipped down under his hat, his hands clasped together in his lap. "Last week we were fine. We were talkin' about the future, about what we'd do when I got back. I mean . . . I just . . . I don't understand."

I didn't know what to say. Alice's proclamation had stunned me just as much as it had him. There'd been no indication that she'd been falling for James, no way to tell she'd been unhappy with Jasper at all.

"Do you know why, Bella Mia? Do you know what I did—"

"No, Jasper." I cut him off and looked up at him. He stared back at me, his eyes so confused, so sad, so blue, even in the waning light. Little wisps of blond hair, much lighter against the rugged tan of his skin, peeked out from below the rim of his hat and curled up a little at the ends. In that moment, he looked so much like the boy I'd caught frogs along the stream with, the boy who didn't say much but was always there when anyone needed him, the boy who'd worshiped the ground my best friend walked on. And I was so angry with her right then that I almost didn't know what to do with myself. No matter how close she and I were—or how close I thought we were—I couldn't condone how she'd treated my other friend. "I don't know what's going on with Alice. I don't understand any of this either."

Jasper tipped his head up to watch the sunset, and his fists clenched in his lap. Unthinkingly, I reached over and took the one closest to me, my fingers sliding over his rough knuckles, until he loosened up and let mine slip between his. It should have felt strange, uncomfortable to hold his hand, but it didn't.

Jasper stared down at his lap. "I think I knew she couldn't handle this. Me goin' away and all. I think, somewhere inside, I knew. What's that say about me? About how much I thought about her. That I decided to go anyway."

"You can't think like that." I leaned into him, reaching over with my free hand to cup his cheek and turn his face toward mine. We were only inches apart now, but I needed him to hear me, really hear me. "This isn't your fault, okay? It's not. Alice has always been like this. She gets a thought in her head and there's nothing anyone can do to change it. It's just how she is. You're doing what you feel like you need to do, Jasper. And for now, the Army is where you need to be. Don't ever question what you could have done differently, because you've always been so amazing with her."

The rim of his hat came up just slightly and then his eyes were on mine. My breath caught at all of the emotions swirling inside them, and I wondered how I'd never noticed how expressive they were before.

"You think I'm amazin'?" he asked, his voice so quiet, so uncertain, and he was looking at me in a way he never had before, like I was all he could see in the world.

That's when I felt it: the small, subtle shift in my stomach, the little fluttering that tickled my insides and made my heart speed up. The next thing I knew, I was leaning in more, and he was so close, and I could almost taste his breath—I _wanted_ to taste it, and then there was nothing but warmth, and the slide of lips, and the shuddering of breath, and Jasper. _Just Jasper._

It made no sense then and it still doesn't now. I don't know why I kissed him. I don't know anything about anything.

Until that night, I'd never looked at him that way. He'd always been there, lingering in the background behind Alice, Edward, Rose, and Emmett. Yes, we'd been friends, and yes, I'd known him forever, but he's just never been one of those boys that stood out. He wasn't boisterous and annoying like Emmett. He didn't have those strikingly beautiful features like Edward. He was just Jasper. Quiet, polite, unassuming Jasper.

And then I watched him break in front of me, and something just . . . changed. He didn't look the same anymore, but yet, he was still _exactly_ the same. It was me who had changed. It was my eyes that had been opened, and that same unassuming, polite, quiet boy became _Jasper. _And_ Jasper_ was intriguing, and mysterious, and somehow sexy.

I can't even say what it was that triggered it. Something he said, something he did? The look of absolute devastation on his face? I just don't know. Maybe there is no answer. Maybe there never was. Maybe it doesn't matter anyway. The fact is that this is where we are. This is where we're stuck. And this is why I've been up all night.

My skin is tingling and prickling like fire ants are crawling all over me and taking bites of me along the way. I take this as a sign that sleep is futile.

I kick my mattress a few times and heave myself out of bed. My room lights with several quick flashes from outside and I stand, stretching my arms above my head. I yawn as I climb the stairs.

The first floor is dark, darker than normal as it looks like Rosalie has drawn the room darkening shades. I frown, because she usually doesn't do this. Unless . . .

"Oh, ew," I say to myself with a shudder. The last thing I need right now is to imagine all the things she and Emmett were probably doing on that couch. I'm seriously contemplating whether or not I even want to sit on it ever again.

Crossing the room, I make my way over to where the couch sits in front of the window. I reach out to pull back the shade, when my pinkie toe cracks into the leg of the coffee table.

"Ow! Shit!" I cry out as I pitch forward, my hands grasping at anything within reach. My fingers close around the fabric of the curtains, but my weight is too much for the bar to bear, and we both come crashing down onto the couch. Only the couch doesn't feel like it should: it's hard and lumpy, and it's _moving._

I let out a high-pitched screech and throw myself backward, only something comes up around me and holds me in place. Lightning fills the room with several short bursts of light, and I see what has a hold of me, or rather, _who_.

"You okay?" Jasper says, and every part of my body heats up with those words—the same ones he uttered after we were together that night. My mind flashes back to him above me, his damp hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes wide and filled with concern, confusion, and lust.

I force back a shiver and become increasingly aware that he's holding me flush against his chest, his arm wrapped around my lower back, our noses practically touching. He's not wearing a shirt, and my hand is resting on his bare skin, the chain dangling from his neck wrapped around my pinkie. I can feel the thud, thud, thud of his heart pumping against my palm, and I swear it's racing as fast as mine.

"I . . ." I say. "I think so—"

A loud bang sounds from the other side of the room and the overhead light pops on.

"What happened? What's going on?" Rosalie stands in the entrance to the living room, her hair a large, poofy mess around her head. She's wearing a man's t-shirt and is brandishing a metal baseball bat. Emmett ambles in behind her, rubbing his eyes and bumping into walls.

"Oh, I . . ." I say, turning back to face Jasper. He's staring at me, and I notice he seems just as awake as I am, like he's had trouble sleeping too. "Falling on Jasper, I guess."

The corners of his mouth lift a little.

"Oh," Rosalie says, and lets the bat slip down in her grip. "Well, have fun with that then." She grabs Emmett by the shirt and drags him back toward her bedroom. "Come on, Em, I need you to calm my nerves so I can get back to sleep."

Emmett's face brightens and he gives a fist pump, before brushing his hand over the light switch and plunging the room back into darkness.

And then we're alone.

In the dark.

Jasper and me.

And I'm not sure I've ever been more afraid in my life.

My heart is beating so fast and hard now I'm positive he can hear it. A few more flashes of light spark and die out, but neither of us move. His chest rises and falls against me, his breath spreading over my neck and collarbone, and it's all I can do not to tremble. His fingers move slightly against my back, and it's then I remember what I'm wearing—or, specifically, what I'm not. My cheeks burn when I think of the very tight tank and boyshort panties that currently adorn my body.

"Uh, Jasper . . ."

"Yeah?" he says. It's barely a breath, but I feel it everywhere.

"You, uh, you can let me go now," I say, though deep inside I feel my body protest.

"Oh. Sorry. I wasn't thinkin'." His arm loosens from around me, and I slip my hands outward, grasping the only part of him I can to help myself up. My fingers wrap around the curve of his biceps, just as he places his hands on my hips and helps me stand.

"Oh!" I say when I try to put weight on my foot. Pain shoots out from my toe and spreads up my shin. "Shit. Shit. Dammit!"

Jasper stands and grabs my arm to keep me steady. My eyes prick with tears. "What's wrong?" he asks.

I inhale through my nose and exhale slowly through my mouth to ease the pain and try to hold back the tears. It's no use; it hurts like a son of a bitch.

"My toe. I hit it on the coffee table and now it hurts like a mother. I think it's broken." My voice cracks on the last word and a couple of tears escape down my cheeks. I swipe them away, beyond embarrassed, and I wish to God he wasn't here to see this. I've never liked crying in front of people, especially over something as stupid as a toe.

"Let me look," he says, and twists to turn on the lamp, but I tighten my grip on his arms.

"Wait, Jasper—"

"What?" he says. "You need to let me look, sugar. If it's broken, we'll have to wrap it."

"No, it's . . ." My cheeks burn again. "Well, I'm not . . . I'm not wearing any clothes."

Jasper doesn't say anything; he doesn't move. But I can hear the way his breathing speeds, and the hitch in it before it does. After a few seconds, he turns and bends down to the couch. When he comes back up, he reaches out and drapes a thin blanket around my shoulders. The tips of his fingers whisper across my collarbone as he pulls away, and I almost can't contain myself.

"Better?" he asks, and his voice is so soft.

I nod, but realize he can't see me in the dark, so I answer, "Yeah."

He turns away again, and I hear a rustling and a clank of metal nearby. A minute later, when the light snaps on, he's wearing a t-shirt and his jeans from earlier, and something in my chest pangs. He's covered himself up to make me comfortable.

Jasper turns back to me. "Can you make it over to the counter? I think I can see better in that light."

I nod and hobble the few feet across the room, wincing and gasping each time the pain shoots up my leg. Jasper holds onto my arm the whole way in case I fall. When we reach the kitchen area, he flips on the light and looks at me, hesitation in his gaze.

"What?" I ask, cinching the blanket tighter around my body, wondering if I'm showing him more than I should.

"I need you on the counter."

My face blazes. "Wh—what?"

His mouth starts to curl up, but he tightens his lips to stop it, and then tilts his head and scratches at the back of his neck. "Uh, the counter? I need you to sit on it."

"Oh. Right. I knew that." I turn away, sure more than my face is red now, and try to figure out how to get up there without flashing him, when I feel him step up behind me.

"Let me help you, darlin'."

Before I can say anything, he's turning me around and his hands are on my waist, fingers tightening into my flesh as he lifts me up. My breath catches and I grab onto his shoulders to steady myself. A moment later, he sits me on the Formica counter and removes his hands from my waist. I slowly drop mine from him too, though it's harder than I imagined it would be.

"All right?" he asks, and I nod. "Okay, I'm just gonna check it out. You can pinch me if I hurt you." He smiles, and it's just the right amount of crooked, leading to a shallow dimple in his left cheek. My chest flutters, my stomach flutters, everything flutters, and I don't understand this at all.

"I'm not going to pinch you, Jasper. I trust you."

Something crosses his eyes now and his smile falls away. I don't know what to make of that, but I don't have time to really ponder it, because he's crouching down in front of me and his hand is around my calf, sliding slowly down to my ankle. His touch is searing hot, and I can feel it everywhere, like all of my nerves have suddenly caught fire. I press my hands down on the counter top and curl my fingers around the edge. The sharpness digs into my palm, but I don't even register it over the overwhelming sensation encompassing my leg.

Jasper's head is down, and the only thing I can focus on is the line of his shoulders. They're wider than I remember, thicker too, and I can't help but wonder if they would feel the same as they did the last time I dug into them.

"It doesn't look broken," he says. "But I'm goin' to need to touch it to see for sure."

I grimace and bite my lip, as a little whimper escapes from my throat. I don't like pain and tend to be a big baby about it. I wonder if he remembers that about me.

He glances up at me, with a look in his eyes that tells me he does. "I'll be gentle, I promise." I don't answer, but I do nod. Jasper reaches up, takes one of my hands in his, and places it on his shoulder. "So you can pinch me."

"I'm not going to pinch you—Ow!" And then I pinch him, or dig him, rather. "Ow! Jasper! Jesus!"

"Hold on," he says, and he gently manipulates my toe some more.

"Shhhhhittt," I grab his other shoulder to steady myself, and squeeze my eyes shut.

His hand moves off from my toe and up to my ankle once more. He rubs lightly, soothingly, and I open my eyes. He's looking at me, and I don't even know what it is his eyes are saying, I just know they're shouting it.

"It's not broken," he says. "Just bruised. It's gonna be pretty sore though."

"How do you know?"

"I saw a lot of broken bones in the Army, fingers and toes included. I got pretty good at recognizin' the difference, seein' so many."

"That must've been . . . gross."

He chuckles and shrugs, and that's when I realize I'm still holding on to him. I let go, hoping I didn't dig him too hard. "Well, thanks for looking at this for me. I feel a lot better having a broken bone expert examine me and all."

He grins. "Happy to oblige, ma'am." He lays on the accent thick and fake-tips his non-existent hat.

I laugh. "You know that's totally unfair, right?"

"What?" He stands, and as he does, the cool slickness of his dog tags slide up my shin, bump against my knee, and dip briefly between my thighs. Goosebumps pop up everywhere it grazed.

When I speak next, my voice is shaky. "That accent. The ma'ams and darlin's. The g dropping. All of it. Us girls, we can't really defend ourselves against it."

Jasper places his hands on the counter next to my legs, and leans in slightly, his gaze intent on mine. "You grew up 'round here with me, Bella. You heard this accent every day for years."

I swallow hard, because I know this is it. This is the moment it all becomes real. This is the moment we acknowledge it. And I'm scared to death of what that means. "But it's different now."

His gaze shifts from one of my eyes to the other. "Is it?"

"You know it is, Jasper."

He sighs and lowers his head. "Bella, I—"

The overhead light in the living room flicks on once more, and Jasper and I turn toward it. Emmett walks across the room, his arms stretched over his head, and a big goofy grin taking up his face.

I roll my eyes, because I know that look. "Dear God, here we go."

"Good morning, good morning!" Emmett bellows. "Man, I could eat an entire herd of cattle after the lovin' Rosie just gave me. The girl can be such a hellcat."

Jasper and I both groan.

"On that note," Jasper says, turning back to me. "Why don't I help you back downstairs?"

"You don't have to do that. I can—" Before I can finish my sentence, Jasper sweeps me up off the counter and into his arms. He pulls me against his chest, and I'm immediately surrounded with warmth, and boy, and Jasper.

"Darlin' my mama didn't raise me to let a lady in need go without assistance. You wouldn't want to give her reason to fix me up a tongue lashin' for not bein' a gentleman, now would ya?" I narrow my eyes at his obviously exaggerated accent and southern speak. He leans in, and his voice rumbles in my ear. "Plus, you're not gonna let him damage me for life by makin' me listen to his ramblin' about his and Rosalie's exploits, are you, Bella Mia?"

I turn to him, and there's a very real plea in his eyes. I don't blame him. Having been the victim of Emmett's sex descriptions on more than one account, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. "All right, fine. Take me to bed, then."

I regret my choice of words the moment they leave my mouth.

Emmett spits the milk he's drinking all over the counter.

"Wait . . . No, that didn't come out right—"

"Hold the hell up!" Emmett slams the milk carton down and his face twists in anger. He glares at Jasper, his eyes lowering to Jasper's hands on my legs, like he just noticed them.

"Emmett," I say. "Wait a second—"

"No, you wait a second." His glare is directed at me now. "After everything that happened with _him_, you gonna start up again like this?"

"Emmett!" I say, at the same time Jasper says, "Now, you know it ain't like that."

"The hell I do! Why do you got your hands all over her like that then?" Emmett nearly shouts. "And why's she asking you to take her to bed? You just got back, Jasper, isn't that moving a little fast?"

"Emmett!" I try again, but it's futile.

"I ain't got my hands on her like nothin'!" Jasper says.

"Bullshit. You two have been acting sketchy around each other all night," Emmett says. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you both were—"

"Emmett!" I finally shout, and both boys peer at me in shock. I blow a piece of wayward hair out of my face and then swipe at it with my hand when it does not go where I want it to. "Jesus, would you please shut the hell up." Emmett stares at me with his mouth hanging open. "Jasper is not 'taking me to bed' like _that_."

"But you just said—"

"I hurt my foot when I tripped by the couch. Jasper was just going to help me back downstairs. Stop being an idiot."

Emmett still looks hesitant. "You sure, B? I mean, you know I'm just looking after you after what happened before—"

"I'm sure." I cut him off before he can say anything else about _that_. "Really," I say, softening my voice.

Emmett's protective stance loosens and he takes a step back, still eyeing Jasper as if he isn't sure I'm telling the truth.

I turn back to Jasper, and I say, "I'm ready now." Because I am ready, and I need to get the hell out of there before Emmett says anything else.

Jasper looks between Emmett and me, confusion evident in the creases of his brow, but he eventually nods and starts toward the doorway to the basement. It's beyond dark in the stairwell, and the tension between us is palpable. Just before we reach the bottom, Jasper speaks.

"What was Emmett talkin' about back there?"

I bite my lip and absently rub my thumb against his shoulder. "Nothing. Just forget about it."

"Does he know?" he asks, and I startle at the question.

"What? You mean about . . . about . . . no, no one knows. Unless . . . unless you told someone . . .?"

He's quiet for a moment, and then, "I never told anyone, Bella."

I can feel the awkwardness growing between us, and I wonder if we will ever be able to get past this. If I will ever be able to look at him and not immediately remember that I know how he likes to be kissed, and where, and what he tastes like when I do.

When we step off the bottom of the stairs, Jasper carries me all the way into my bedroom. It's dark and so quiet in my room; the only thing I can hear is the sound of our breathing. He stops at the edge of my bed, but he doesn't immediately put me down. Instead, he just stands there, holding me against him in the dark. My heart starts to pound harder and my fingers twitch on his shoulder.

"Jasper?" I say. My voice is quiet, but it sounds so loud in the silence.

He lets out a breath, and I swear I hear it shake. His fingers flex against my thigh and under my knees, and for a moment, I feel like we're both back there again, that it's four years earlier and we're about to make the same mistakes all over again. And I really don't think I have the strength to stop it.

"Jasper," I whisper once more, and this time it's me who sounds unsteady. "Are you okay?"

He doesn't say anything for what seems like forever, and then, "I don't know."

I start to say more, but he bends then and slowly lowers me to the bed. I leave my arms around his neck all the way down, the short, soft strands of his hair pushing between my fingers, and I can't help but close my eyes when I feel his breath on my throat. When he starts to draw away, his dog tags drag along the top of my chest and bump the tip of my chin, and I have the sudden urge to wrap them around my hand and pull him back down by them.

I still don't understand this feeling, this . . . yearning, this want. Maybe it's the memory of him from years ago. Maybe it's the dark and silence inside my room. Maybe it's everything and nothing all at once. All I know is I can't seem to shake it, and everything in me seems to be asking—begging for something.

Jasper pulls back, and I let him go. Because it's the right thing to do. It's the only thing to do. Even though it feels like it's killing me.

He starts toward the door, and I can't stand how tight it makes my chest. I don't want him to go. I don't want to leave everything unsaid. I don't want to wonder what this was, or what it is, or what it might be.

"Jasper?" I say.

He stops in the doorway, and he's that silhouette again. Only this time he doesn't look like a nervous, unsure boy, he looks like a man. A world-worn, strong, confident man. "Yeah?"

I can hardly speak past the fullness in my throat. I don't know what this is. I don't know what to do. But I know I can't leave things the way they are: all of this confusion, and uncertainty, and secrecy. No matter how much I had wanted to forget, it's obvious neither of us have.

"We should talk. You know, about that night. Shouldn't we?" My pulse is speeding a hundred miles a minute, because I don't know what he thinks about it or if he even wants to.

He lets out an audible breath and looks down at the floor before answering.

I'm afraid of his answer. I'm afraid of how I feel. I'm afraid of the way he looks at me. I'm afraid of him leaving this room and walking out of my life again without us ever having the chance to figure this out. But most of all, I'm afraid I'll never feel again in my whole life the way I felt when I was with him.

"Yeah," he says, glancing back up at me, that one word promising a million different things, and I don't know any of them. "We should. We will."

I nod, and he stands there for a few more moments. And then I see the uncertainty again. I want to spare him of it; I want to spare us both, but I know I can't.

I draw in a breath and say the only thing that makes sense for me to say right now, "Goodnight, Jasper."

He smiles softly and grabs the knob of the door, drawing it closed as he moves out of the room. I close my eyes and through the dark I hear a quiet, "G'night, Bella Mia."

And this time I don't even try to stop the shiver.

* * *

_As I said up top, I can't ramble, but I'm going to try to keep these chapters 1 POV and around 3000-4000 words (or less?). For those of you who've read my stuff before, that's actually pretty short. ;) This doesn't feel like a super complicated story like my others, these characters are just feeling A LOT, and, well, I'm wordy._

_A note on Jasper's accent—in case anyone wonders why he's the only one with a really defined one. Yes, for this story, all the characters "grew up" together in the Houston area of Texas. That doesn't mean they were all born there or that they all lived there all of their lives, it just means they've all lived there since they were kids. More on that later in the story._

_Not everyone in Texas has an accent—not even people who were born and raised here. And I know, because I live here. ;) There are a lot of different factors that go into the various accents here, some of them including where in Texas you live, whether you're a city dweller or a "country" dweller, how your parents speak, etc. etc. For the purposes of this story, Jasper grew up as a "ranchin'" boy. He worked the fields and with the animals with his family from a very young age, and his parents, grandparents, etc. all have the very deep, twangy accent. This is why he has it. It's what he heard from birth, so it's how he learned to talk. The others were either not originally from Texas, or they grew up in more urban areas._

_Hopefully this makes sense and clears up any questions that may have been floating around about that. _

_Until next time,_

_Xoxo ddpjclaf _


	4. React

**Chapter Four - "React"**

_Same disclaimer as Ch.1, same unbeta'd-ness._

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

It's been three days since my past came back to bite me in the ass, since my most guilty secret sauntered back into my life and shattered any sense of self-forgiveness I'd ever allowed myself. Three days since I've felt anywhere close to normal, or truthful, or like a loyal friend. Three days since he pressed a folded slip of paper into my hand, squeezed gently when an involuntary shiver overtook me, and told me to call when I was ready.

"Order up, Bella."

I blink a few times to clear my mind and reach up for the plates my boss, Jacob, has placed in the warming window. The moment my fingers close around the searing edge of the dish and I lift, I realize my mistake.

"Shit!" I say, dropping the plate to the counter with a clatter, the fries flying in every direction, and the burger slipping off the bun into a haphazard pile of meat, cheese, lettuce and bread. I groan out a quiet, "Dammit," and start to gather the spilled contents into a pile.

"You okay?" Jacob asks, and those words . . . _those_ _words_ make the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Because I can still hear them in another voice, see them form on another's mouth.

"Yeah," I say. My finger throbs and I stick it into my mouth to soothe the burn. "I forgot the thingy." I gesture to the special "tongs" we use to transfer the hot plates onto our trays.

Jake frowns and replaces the fries and fixes the burger for the order I decimated. "Is everything all right? You haven't seemed yourself lately."

I sigh. Jesus, I'm so obvious. "I'm fine. Just have a lot on my mind." I try to smile to brush it off. He looks at me skeptically, and I think he's probably not buying it. "I promise," I say, remembering the "thingys" this time and setting all four plates onto my tray without a problem.

"Well, if you need to talk . . ."

"Thanks, Jake, but I'm okay. Really." I turn toward the dining room and squeeze my eyes shut tightly for a second. I really need to get a grip, because my spaced out brain is not working, and soon everyone is going to catch on that something is off about me.

When I open my eyes, I immediately groan when I see Emmett weaving his way through the crowded room and heading right in my direction. "God, not again," I mutter under my breath as I turn away from his approaching form and proceed to deliver the meals from my tray.

"Okay," I say, "One turkey on wheat, hold the mayo, with extra lettuce. Sweet potato fries and baked apples." I slide the plate across to a man wearing a dirty green cap and an oil-stained flannel shirt. "And a double deluxe cheeseburger with extra pickles and mustard, hold the ketchup and mayo."

"So, are you ever going to talk to me again?" I hear from behind me.

I roll my eyes and continue to distribute the last two plates of food. The diner is full, the pace demanding, and I don't have time for Emmett and this conversation again. I smile at my customers and tell them to enjoy their meal, before turning back toward the counter to grab the next order.

"Come on, I said I was sorry."

"I know, and I said okay," I answer. "We don't have to rehash this, Emmett," I wipe my hands on the apron wrapped around my middle. "Jake," I call. He looks up and raises his brows. "I forgot table sixteen wants medium rare, not medium well. Sorry." He nods and glances past me, where I know Emmett is standing. Probably impossibly close, like a hovering vulture waiting for its prey to die. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck.

"But you're still mad," Emmett says.

I begin to stack more food onto my tray, forcing myself not to turn around. "I'm not mad." A few fries fall onto the counter and I hurriedly brush them into the garbage before hoisting my tray onto my shoulder once more. "I'm just busy."

"You haven't really talked to me in three days. You're mad. I'm SOR-RY."

He's right, I haven't talked to him much since the night he went off on Jasper and me, but it isn't because I'm mad.

Truthfully, I haven't really spoken much to anyone. I've mostly kept myself busy, begging Jake for more shifts at the diner and holing myself up in my room under the guise of "working on a new story." Which, of course, is a lie, because I've written no more than fifty words since Jasper Whitlock showed up at that pool hall. How am I supposed to write about a tattooed, rockstar wannabe, when the only thing I can think about is a soft-spoken, cowboy-soldier, who breezed into town and brought up thoughts and feelings I'd buried years ago?

I'm so confused.

It's no surprise though, is it? I did something a long time ago, with someone I shouldn't have, and now he's back, and it's all coming back, and . . . I need time to think. I just need time to think. Alone. I'm trying to act normal, to be normal, but every time I turn around, Emmett, Rose, or Edward is looking at me with concern. I get it, but I don't want them watching my every move, I don't want them watching me at all. Because I'm not sure what I'm thinking or feeling, and I can't figure it out when I'm worried about what they're seeing. So, yeah, I'm not talking to anyone.

Especially Jasper.

Unfortunately, Emmett doesn't know how to take a hint and leave things alone.

"Come on, Bells. At least look at me."

I sigh and turn toward him. He's not going to stop unless we have this out, and, regrettably, it's going to be at my place of employment, where I'm surrounded by needy customers and burgers, and my boss eyeing me from back in the kitchen. "I know you guys are just looking out for me so I don't revert back to . . . what I was like after Edward . . ." I can't hold back a grimace. Remembering how I acted then is never a highlight of my day. "But you shouldn't have said what you did to Jasper."

"I know, and I'm sor—"

I hold up my hand. "Stop saying you're sorry to me. It's over and done with now. We can just forget it." I start to walk back into the dining room, when Emmett grabs my arm.

"We shouldn't forget it," he says, his eyes soft and remorseful. "We thought we lost you back then, Bella. I mean . . . we understood _why_ you were doing the things you were doing, we just hated seeing how . . . self-destructive you were." He cups the back of his neck and looks up at me with a sheepish expression. "I know I blew everything out of proportion the other night, but when I saw Jasper holding you like that, and heard what you were saying . . . it was like my mind blanked out on who you two were, and all I could see was you back then. You and _them._ I mean, I _know_ what I saw wasn't like that, and I know you would never get with Jasper. I just had a giant brainfart. And I . . . I worry about you, Bells."

I swallow hard and try my damnedest not to think about how much my friends don't know about me. How much they don't know about Jasper and me. Heat creeps into my cheeks as I turn over what Emmett's saying. There are definite truths to his words, but definite falsehoods too. I _was _lost back then . . . but I'm also a little lost right now.

"You don't have to worry. I'm not like that anymore. I'm not going to be ever again," I say, quietly, trying to push back the memories of guy after guy, night after night of searching for something, anything to take away the deep feelings of inadequacy left behind after Edward and I split. But I can't blame him for those feelings or the way I chose to deal with them. Our relationship may not have been right, but it wasn't bad because we were bad _to_ each other. It was bad because we were bad _for_ each other. It's taken me a long time to convince myself of that.

"I know," Emmett says. "That's why I'm sorry. I know you, and even though he's been gone for four years, I know Jasper too. I think I just forgot for a few seconds there—you know, because he _has_ been gone so long, and is probably sex deprived—that he was more than just a guy you picked up off the streets."

I ignore the slam on my . . . behavior from the past, because he's right: Jasper is definitely more than just a guy I picked up. Emmett just has no idea how much more. "It's not like he was in prison, Emmett!"

"So? He might as well have been. I mean, he was over in probably one of the shittiest parts of the world for over a year—did you know in some of those places they keep their women covered from head-to-toe?"

"Yes, Emmett. But I'm sure he's not _deprived_."

I start toward my tables, my stomach tightening at the thought. I'm a little startled by how much I hate the idea of Jasper _not_ being "deprived"—though I'm aware of how ridiculous and hypocritical that is, considering my exploits over the past few years. Closing my eyes, I draw in a slow breath. I'm tired of thinking about Jasper; I'm tired of thinking period. Forcing a smile to my lips, I distribute the meals from my tray and turn back to Emmett.

"So . . ." he says, his voice changing from joking to vulnerable. "Are we really okay?"

I move forward and stretch up on tip-toes to wrap my arms around his neck. "Yes," I say into his shoulder. "We're fine. I promise." Emmett tightens his hold on me.

"And don't worry," he mumbles, before pulling back, his hands still on my waist. "I've asked Jasper to meet me here, and I'm going to apologize and explain it all to him."

I jerk back and blink up at him. "What? What do you mean you're going to 'explain' it all to him?"

Emmett opens his mouth to speak when the chime over the door goes off, and I know. I can feel it all over my body. When I peer over, I watch as Jasper steps into the diner dressed in the same ensemble of jeans, t-shirt, cowboy boots and hat that I've seen him wear a thousand times. Only my heart never skipped beats like this when he walked into a room before. It's like, even though I try not to remember, or at least not obsess, my body knows him in a way that is visceral and real, and nothing I do, or think, or say stops it from reacting the way it does to him.

Jasper's eyes sweep the diner, and when they land on me, I swear I see them spark. He reaches up and pulls the hat from his head. Damp, dark blond locks tumble out from underneath, and the way they curl just slightly as they dry is enough to make my breath catch. My mouth drops open, and Emmett frowns in confusion. I snap my lips shut and frown back. My teeth nip nervously at the inside of my mouth, and the unease inside of me reaches a crescendo as Jasper comes nearer. The three days I've given myself to come to terms with his presence have done nothing to make sense out of this new and disturbing phenomenon happening inside of me.

The sight of him still makes my stomach flip and my mouth go dry. The skin around my ankle and along the inside of my thigh tingles as his fingers trace the rim of his hat, and the light catches the chain around his neck just right.

I'm not ready for him though. I'm beginning to wonder if I ever will be.

By the time Jasper stops in front of us, I'm pretty sure he and Emmett both can see my heart beating through my chest.

"Hey, man," Emmett says, holding out his fist in that way guys do. "Thanks for coming."

"Sure," Jasper says, bumping Emmett's fist and shifting his gaze to me. "Bella."

"Hi, Jasper," I say, and I'm proud of the fact that my voice doesn't shake. His mouth rises just slightly on one side, and I've lost my composure all over again. I clear my throat. "Did you guys want a table or to sit at the bar?"

"A table would be great, Bells," Emmett says. "Do you think you could seat Jasper while I take a piss?"

I shake my head. "Do you _have_ to be so crass, Em?"

"That's a stupid question."

I roll my eyes. "Come on, Jasper." I don't look back as I make my way toward the front of the diner. I don't need to. I know exactly how near Jasper is to me. It's like I'm standing too close to a fire, my skin burning and blistering and flaking away, yet I don't move because I'm in love with the way it hurts.

After grabbing two menus from the waitress stand near the door, I stop in front of a booth by the window. I set them down and whirl around, not expecting Jasper's chest to be right there. My forehead connects with his sternum, and he reaches out, his fingers curling around my hips as I lurch backward.

"Ow," I say, rubbing my forehead. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, darlin'. I shouldn'ta been walkin' so close." He steps back and starts to move around me.

Without thinking, I reach out and grasp his arm. He freezes. I freeze. Time freezes. I look up, and he's right there, right in front of me, his eyes wide and questioning, and I can't _not_ say something. "I'm sorry I didn't call," I say.

Jasper frowns. "Why're you sorry? I said when you were ready."

"I know." I let go of him, my fingers brushing along his skin as I do, and I feel goosebumps rise on his flesh. "But I should have. I just . . . I couldn't . . ."

"There's no should involved here, Bella. We don't have to talk about it yet if you don't want. In fact," he glances down and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat, "we can just not at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he meets my gaze once more, "we don't have to make this weird. We don't have to drag it all back up. It happened, but it's been a long time now. What's the point of torturin' ourselves over it?"

I frown. "This is torturous for you?"

"Isn't it for you?"

My mouth drops open, and I don't know what to say. Jasper leans in further, placing his hands on either side of me and trapping me between him and the table. The heat coming off from him makes me dizzy, and his eyes are so sincere and blue that I can hardly stand to look into them.

"I don't want to make things harder than they are, and I'm sorry that me comin' back here has brought all this up again. I can pretend, Bella Mia. If that's what you want, I can pretend again. Just don't keep avoidin' me."

"Jasper—"

"I get that you feel guilty, I do. But when . . . when we . . . when we did what we did, neither of us were thinkin'. Neither of us were worrin' about anything or anyone but ourselves. We were just feelin'. And I'm sorry, but I don't feel guilty for that, because it felt so damn good to do something that wasn't about what Alice liked, and Alice wanted, and Alice controlled. It was just about me and what_ I_ wanted." His voice lowers. "I wish you could see that we didn't do anything wrong."

I swallow and step out of his grasp. "Maybe it wasn't wrong for you, Jasper, but it was for me. And it's . . . hard . . . for me, because I don't . . . I don't . . . feel the same as I did before."

His stare moves from one of my eyes to the other. "About what?"

I draw in a breath, and this time it shakes. "You," I whisper. "I don't know how I feel about you, and that scares me."

"Why?"

"Because you were my friend," I say. "You were one of my best friends, and she was—" My voice breaks and I clear my throat. "And I don't know how to look at you anymore. I don't know how to look at you and be normal, because I don't see my friend anymore. I see you that night. I see the way you looked at me afterward, and the way you moved my hair out of my face, and the way you asked if I was okay. I see the way you watched me when your bus pulled away. And I feel all this . . . stuff . . . and it doesn't make sense. It shouldn't make sense."

Jasper's eyes are wider than I've ever seen them, and I look away because I can't take what I see in them. I didn't mean for that to come out that way or right now. But there it is. _There it is._

"Bella, I—"

"Please don't," I whisper. "Don't say anything. Not right now. I shouldn't have said anything either. I'm sorry. It's just we . . . _we can't_ . . . right now."

Jasper is quiet for a few moments, his gaze cast down, though I know he's struggling by the way his breath has quickened. "All right," he says. And the way he surrenders kills me. Because I know what things were like for him with Alice. I know how she took advantage of his sweet, southern gentlemanliness. And I hate that I'm doing the same thing now. He won't fight me on this. He won't give me an ultimatum or a time limit. He'll just wait, like he always does, because kind and patient is the only way he knows how to be.

And I, apparently, don't know how to be anything but a selfish, confused girl who can't figure out her own mind.

The jingle of the bell over the door sounds again, but I don't look up to greet the customers coming inside. The only thing I can focus on is Jasper. My fingers itch to reach out for him, to run along the tops of his broad shoulders and around his neck, as I pull him into me. But I know I can't. Hugging him didn't use to mean the things it does now, and that makes me sad. Once upon a time, this boy was my friend, my good friend, and now I can't even touch him without it feeling wrong.

"Jasper, I—" But my words are interrupted by a sharp gasp, followed by a high-pitched squeal.

Jasper and I both turn toward the sound, and when I see the reason for it, my stomach drops to my feet. Standing in the doorway to the diner, body swathed in designer clothes with her dark hair pulled up into an elaborate do, is Alice Brandon. Her hand is poised over her mouth and her eyes are wide.

"Jasper?" she says, and her voice is filled with awe.

I glance up at Jasper, and he's looking at her. But his gaze is not filled with the wonder hers is. His is plain, stoic, seemingly unaffected, though I notice a slight tightening of his jaw. He doesn't speak, and I swallow hard. I glance back at Alice. She's removed her hand from her mouth now and is smiling, lips stretched wide over white teeth.

"Oh my God, I can't believe it's you!"

And then she moves forward.

In reality, the whole scene takes only seconds, but to me it seems like hours. I see every one of her steps, every sway of her skirt and click of her heels, every inch her arms reach out for him. I watch helplessly as she grabs on to him, her body fitting itself up close to his, her hands slipping around his neck and her fingers curling in to hold him there.

And I can't stand it. I want to rip her hands off from him and push her away to take her place. But there's nothing I can do but stand here and watch as she buries her face into his shoulder and holds him as tight as her tiny arms can manage.

It's been a long time since I've hated her as much as I do in this moment.

"Oh, God, Jasper. I'm so sorry," she says, and I can hear she's crying. "I'm sorry for what I did. For how I did it. I'm so sorry."

I close my lids and turn away, my eyes burning and throat tightening. My chest aches with the need to breathe, but I can't draw in any air. I can't breathe and I can't make my feet move to get me out of there.

Suddenly, an arm wraps around my shoulders and tugs against me. My eyes pop open, and I'm met by Jake's concerned face.

"Come on, I got you," he says, and I can feel he does.

I sag into him and allow him to lead me away. The further I get from the spectacle that is Alice and Jasper, the lighter the air feels.

"So he's the one, huh?" Jake says.

I frown up at him. "The one?"

He nods. "The one that's got you all tied up."

I shake my head and open my mouth to protest, but Jake cuts me off.

"Don't worry, I won't say anything. But if y'all are trying to be subtle, you need to work on your game faces."

"What do you mean?"

Jake doesn't answer. Instead, he lifts his chin in Jasper's direction. "Seems like you're not the only one who's not thrilled with that greeting."

Reluctantly, I turn back toward the front of the room. Alice still has herself wrapped tightly around Jasper's lanky frame, but he's not responding in kind. He's standing ramrod straight, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. For a moment, I let my eyes linger at the way his hands are fisted, and then I let my gaze wander up, my breath catching when I realize Jasper isn't even looking down at Alice.

He's looking at me.

It shouldn't make me feel good that one of my oldest, dearest friends is basically being shot down after a very emotional apology. It shouldn't make me pleased that she's going to be crushed when she realizes he's not hugging her back. It shouldn't make me glad that, even though he has a girl plastered against him, a girl he used to know inside and out, used to love with all of his heart, he's looking at _me_.

I turn away from them once more, and the corners of my mouth pull up slightly.

No, I shouldn't feel happy at all.

But I do.

* * *

_So, that's Alice . . ._

_Jasper POV next time._

_XOXO, ddpjclaf_


	5. Reject

**Chapter Five - "Reject"**

_I'm going to try to keep up the once a week posting for this fic. Keep your fingers crossed for me!_

_Thank you to all of you who have been leaving such sweet reviews. I've tried to respond to you all, but sometimes fanfiction flakes out and won't let me. Please just know that if for some reason I don't, that I've read and loved them all._

_As always, this is unbeta'd and none of the characters belong to me. I just like playing with Jasper and making him drop his "Gs"_

_Enjoy._

* * *

It's strange how, not so many years ago, the feel of this girl's arms 'round me had been the highlight of my life. Every mornin' I'd leave my home feelin' like shit warmed over after my pa had reamed me good for bein' "too soft to be a ranchin' lad" or "not pullin' your weight in your chores" and "why can't you be more like your brother?" And I'd be thinkin' maybe he was right, maybe I hadn't pulled my weight, maybe I was too soft, too weak, and why _wasn't_ I stronger, more proficient, more dependable like Peter?

Then I'd see her. Alice Brandon.

At only four feet eleven inches tall, she was bigger and brighter than any star in the sky. She was spunky and smart, sweet and sassy, colorful and cute. And she was all mine.

When she saw me makin' my way toward her, her smile was always larger than life and said more about acceptance than any of my pa's words ever could. And when she flashed it all for me, I was remade, repurposed. I was alive.

But in one moment, one tiny, seemin'ly insignificant moment, she'd killed me dead.

Her arms 'round me now don't feel anything like they used to. They aren't freedom from insecurities and a father who couldn't see past his own ideals. They aren't savin' smiles and healin' kisses. They're not acceptance, love, and peace.

They're chains. Chains draggin' me back to a life and time I no longer want to live inside. I wonder if they always were and I'd just never realized.

I don't feel that tug in my gut, the heat rush to my cheeks, the swell in my chest. I don't feel anything except the urge to pull away_. _

I turn my head away from Alice Brandon, away from what's happenin' right in front of me, toward where Bella was standin'. Except she's not there anymore. She's bein' escorted away by a big guy with long, stringy dark hair, his arm holdin' her against him, his hand cuppin' her shoulder possessively.

My hands clench into fists at my sides, and I feel the heat I'd been missin' from Alice fill my skin. Although I know it's not the same at all. Somethin' rises up in me, somethin' I haven't felt in a long time, and all I want is to free myself from this girl's grip and claim another's.

But then she turns, and it's like she's no longer there. Her eyes are fixated on Alice's arms 'round me, and then slowly, they make their way up to mine. I try to tell her with my stare, try to let her know that this is not what I want, but she turns away before I can. And all I can see anymore is the look of blankness in her eyes, and it feels like I've lost her before I had the chance to have her.

"Oh, I messed up your shirt."

Alice's voice pulls me back from my thoughts, and I glance down. She's stepped away and is wipin' at my chest with a napkin she must have taken from the table. A small black smudge surrounded by wetness covers my left pec.

"It's all right," I say.

But she shakes her head and rubs harder. "It's not. I've ruined it."

I reach up and grasp her wrist, her frantic scrubbin' comin' to an abrupt halt. Her shoulders rise and fall heavily, and I know this is about more than a little makeup on my shirt. "It's fine," I say again. "It's an old shirt anyway."

"I know," she says, her voice quiet and tremblin'. "I remember you wearing it."

I don't say anything in return, and she lets out a breath, straightens her shoulders, and glances up at me. Her eyes are red and her makeup is smudged, but she looks exactly the same as she did the last time I saw her. Granted, she's older and her face has matured some, but her eyes are still that amazin' shade of gray, and I can tell she still fusses with her hair to make it perfect. But the way I feel when I look at her is not the same. There are no stomach flips, heatin' cheeks, or chest tightenin's. There is no anger from the night she left me. There's not really anything at all.

"I wrote you," she says. "I tried to explain why . . ."

"Yeah, I know. I got them." I don't say anything else, because I don't think I need to explain why I didn't answer. She's a smart girl.

Alice fidgets with the strap of her purse. She's never been good at not bein' in control, and I think she realizes that she no longer has any over me. "So you know that I didn't mean it. That I was wrong and I never wanted—"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me now, Alice," I say, interruptin' her speech. "We were kids and it's in the past. We've both moved on, right?"

She stares up at me, her gaze bouncin' from one of my eyes to the other, as if she's lookin' for some hidden meanin' behind my words. But it doesn't matter how deep she looks, there's nothin' to find. There hasn't been for years.

"So you're not mad at me?" Her question seems incredulous, like she can't believe I wouldn't be. As if I'd spent the last four years of my life worryin' on how she'd done me wrong.

I sigh and cup the back of my neck. "I was. For a long time. But so much has happened between then and now. I've done and seen so much in the last four years, and I've, hopefully, matured enough not to hold grudges against people for decisions they made when they were seventeen-years-old." I smile, because I really do hold no ill will toward this Alice, the one who's dressed like an adult and sounds like one too, for things she did years ago.

Her mouth curls up into the grin I used to be so familiar with. She shakes her head. "Damn, I was a stupid, stupid girl to gamble away the likes of you."

I don't have a chance to answer, before I hear Emmett's boomin' voice from across the diner.

"Ally-Cat!" he says, and in seconds he's there in front of us, scoopin' Alice up into his arms.

Her breath comes out in a giant woosh, and she's poundin' against his back and yellin' at him to put her down because she can't breathe. I can't help but laugh. This is the them I remember: Emmett bein' anything but gentle with his step-sister and her screamin' at him to leave her alone and act his age.

When he finally stops swingin' her 'round in circles and puts her back on her feet, she sways slightly and tries to slap him on the arm, but misses and cracks her hand on the wall instead.

"Idiot," she says, shakin' her sore hand out.

"I'm sorry, sis, but you know how I get when I'm excited. I thought you weren't supposed to be back from Paris until next Thursday?"

She's massagin' her palm. "You know how fickle Marcus can be. He got all pissed at one of the other designers in the show and bowed out." She rolls her eyes. "Fashion designers. Such drama queens."

"Now, now, Ally, what'd I tell you about bashing your peers?" Bella's voice comes from behind me, and I whirl around. She's standin' several feet away, her face fixed into a genuine smile. If I didn't know better, I never would've been able to tell there was anything botherin' her. But I did know better, and I could still feel the tension radiatin' between us. Like the air knew we weren't done, like it knew our business was far from finished. But she doesn't act ruffled in the slightest. In fact, she doesn't even look in my direction. It's like I'm not even standin' there, like she didn't just tell me that she couldn't stop thinkin' of me.

"Oh, God, Bella. I just charged in here and didn't even say hello!" She moves forward and envelops Bella in the same hug she gave me minutes before. And it's as if nothin' ever happened between any of us: Alice hadn't just been cryin' on my shoulder, Bella hadn't been tellin' me she didn't know how to feel about me. It was like we were long lost friends meetin' up after years apart and goin' back to what we'd been before. Only I knew we couldn't. I didn't look at those two girls embracin' and see the same things I did back then. My eyes didn't focus on the one with the meticulously done hair, fancy clothes, and mezmorizin' eyes. They strayed to the one with her blond-steaked, dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, ketchup and mustard stains dottin' her apron, and dark brown eyes that seem to carry the weight of the world inside of them. And as I stand there watchin' them, rememberin' them then, and seein' them now, I can't even remember why I ever looked in the other direction.

Bella pulls back, her hands on Alice's tiny shoulders, and her face aglow. "When did you get back?"

"Just now," Alice says. "I saw yours and Emmett's cars here so I thought I'd stop in and say hiya before heading home. I didn't expect to see . . ." Her eyes flick to me, and Bella's follows, the mask she'd resurrected slippin' just slightly when our gazes meet.

"Yeah," Bella says. "I wasn't expecting him either." And I feel everything she's not sayin' behind those words.

I frown, because I don't want to be a source of guilt or pain for her. I don't want her to look at me and see only wrong. I want her to look at me and see _me_ again, like she did that night, because she's the only one who ever has.

Alice is jabberin' to Bella about some sort of fabric or design or something else I have no clue about, and Bella is listenin' to her intently. There's nothin' fake about the way she pays attention, about the enthusiasm she shows to Alice's excitement. It's there in the sparkle in her eyes and in the corners of her mouth as it stretches into a smile. And I realize then and there that I'm just foolin' myself if I ever think I can get her to forget her guilt. She feels like what we did is an out and out betrayal, which can't and shouldn't ever be forgiven, because she truly and completely loves this girl. And I don't have a goddamn shot in the world to change her mind.

The girls walk away, absorbed in one another and some pictures Alice has procured from her bag, and I watch them move, still astounded over how I could have ever not noticed Bella. And somethin' inside of me hurts more and more the further she gets from me, because I can feel the chance I might have had slippin' further and further away the more time she spends with Alice.

"So, Bro," Emmett says, and I tear my eyes away from the girls and back to him. He's slumpin' forward slightly, his hands shoved into his pockets, and his face fixed into an uncertain expression. "Maybe we should sit so I can get to what it was I called you here for. I'm sure you've got better things to do."

I shrug and slide into the booth. "If by 'better things' you mean havin' my ass handed to me by my pa, then I suppose."

Emmett sits across from me, his brows raised in surprise. "He still the same as before?"

I shrug again, because he isn't . . . but he is, too. The heart attack has mellowed him, but he's still demandin' and he still expects more than I seem to be able to deliver. I clear my throat. "What's this all about, Em?"

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his big hand comin' up to scratch at his head. "It's about the other night."

I raise my brows.

"About . . . what I said to you when I saw you with Bella." He sighs, but I say nothin'. "I shouldn't have said the things I did. It wasn't my place and it was down right insulting and wrong."

I snort. "Those don't sound like your words."

He glances over at Bella and Alice, who are still talkin' and laughin' away up near the counter, and then looks back at me. "Well, Bella may've said that to me the next morning when she was carving me a new asshole, but I'm pretty sure she was right. It's just . . ."

"Just what?"

He groans and sits back into the booth, scratchin' more at his head. "I'm not really supposed to say anything about . . . well, anything, because it's not my deal." His eyes flick back to Bella, and mine follow before returnin' to him. "It's just . . . I worry about Bells—we all do. After Edward . . . well, she had some . . . problems coping and did some things that put her in not very good situations sometimes. And one of those . . . _situations_ . . . ended up getting really bad and really scary for awhile."

I frown and look back over at her. I study the way she keeps her hands hidden in the pockets of her apron, the way her hair curtains her face when she leans forward and laughs, and I don't see a single sign that anything "scary" happened to her. I want to ask Emmett to tell me what it was, but I know he would, and he's right, it isn't his place. If Bella wants me to know, she'll tell me herself.

"Okay," I say. "But I don't understand what this has to do with the other night."

"It doesn't really," he says. "Just the fact that I jumped to conclusions about what was happening and flew off the handle when I should have known better. I mean, I know nothing was happening—or would, for that matter."

I frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he says. "Just that, I mean, you've always been Alice's. I'm not even sure why my brain went anywhere to begin with. It's ridiculous."

Something pangs in the pit of my stomach. "I ain't Alice's," I say, and I try to control my voice, but I'm not sure if I succeed.

Emmett eyes me for a second, as if it's crazy for me to even consider that, and then laughs. "Sure, man."

"No, I don't think you're hearin' me: I'm not Alice's. I haven't been for a long time."

"Come on, man," Emmett says, liftin' his hand in the air to signal for a waitress to bring him a menu. "You know that's not how it works in a circle of friends."

I sit back in the booth and cross my arms over my chest. "Why don't you enlighten me then?"

A blonde waitress comes by the table, drops two menus and a basket of bread off, and smiles and winks at me before leavin'. I ignore her and wait for Emmett's response.

He grabs a roll from the bread basket and takes a large bite before respondin'. "Coupling that results within a group of friends always kinda remains, even after they've broken up. You were with Alice for so long that you stopped being individuals. You were: 'Jasper and Alice' not just 'Jasper' and 'Alice'. You get it? That's just how everyone will always think of you. It's how they'll always group your names. You're Alice's, and she's yours."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," I say. "Alice and I have been over for years. She doesn't belong to me, and I certainly don't belong to her."

"I didn't say I came up with it," Emmett says. "Jeez, don't have a coronary. It's just the way it works. It's like . . . oh, you know what it's like? It's like a brand. Yeah, you know, like you do with cows? You've been branded by Alice. She owns your ass." He laughs, like this is all a goddamn joke. Only I don't think it's funny.

"Talking about me boys?" Alice's voice flitters back to our table, and I look over to see her and Bella approachin' us once more. Alice is smilin', her eyes alight and her voice high and perky. Bella's no longer wearin' her apron, and her gaze is on the floor.

"Yeah," Emmett says, munchin' on another piece of bread. "I was just explaining the 'branding' law among friends to our clueless prodigal son here."

"The 'branding' law?" she asks.

"Yeah, you know, the '_branding_' law! The one that says once you date someone in your circle of friends, they now belong to you for life."

"Ohhhhh," Alice says, laughing. "That law. Right." She turns to me. "It's true, Jazz, you belong to me forever and ever." She winks and leans in to kiss Emmett on the cheek. "I'm completely exhausted, so I'm going to head home and get some shut eye." She leans in to hug me once more. This time, I give a little in return. I don't want to be rude. "Don't be a stranger," she whispers, before she lets go, and then her lips are on my cheek as well.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Bella turn away. But there's nothin' I can do here. There's nothin' I can say. This thing between us, no matter how confusin' and undefined, it's still here, and it's eatin' away at us both. I don't want her to think this bullshit theory of Emmett's is true, because I don't belong to Alice. If that were true, Bella would belong to—

I clench my jaw at the thought.

Alice pulls away and adjusts the strap of her bag over her shoulder. She looks between Emmett and me once more, as if she's seein' somethin' no one else can. And she probably is. That was always Alice's thing—seein' stuff that was impossible for anyone else. She shakes her head. "I can't believe we're all together again. It's going to be like old times." She seems so genuine, so happy, that I know I've lost any chance to convince Bella she shouldn't feel guilty.

Alice turns and loops her arm through Bella's. "Wanna walk me out?"

Bella nods and gives her a small smile. Just before she heads toward the door with Alice, she looks back toward Em and me. "Bye, boys," she says, her voice quiet, reserved. Resigned. And then her gaze lingers on mine. It's only a second—a fraction of a second—but I feel the weight of it like a bolder lyin' on my chest. When she finally looks away and exits the diner with Alice, the pressure is still there, only it's not gettin' better, it's gettin' worse, crushin' me to a pulp beneath it.

I sit and listen to Emmett talk about what he's done over the last few years for a few more minutes, but I don't hear anything he says. Somethin' is pullin' at me, but I don't know what it is. I stare at the table, my finger tracin' the carved initials near the edge, my mind spinnin'.

"Yo, J."

I look up and meet Emmett's annoyed eyes. "Hmm?"

"What's your deal?"

"Nothin'."

"Well, Lauren here's been trying to get your order for the last minute but you've been staring down at the table, ignoring her."

I draw in a breath and exhale slowly. "I'm sorry, sugar." I offer her a smile, and her cheeks grow pink. "Actually, I'm not eatin'," I say, and stand to my feet, grabbin' my hat and holdin' it at my side. "I should get back to the ranch."

Emmett peers up at me, his mouth open in surprise. "But you just got here. Dude, don't you at least want some pie? They have the best pecan pie in the world."

I shake my head and touch my fist to his shoulder. "Not today. But thanks for the explanation. It makes perfect sense now."

He eyes me suspiciously. "You all right, man?"

I nod and place my hat back on my head. "Yep. Just gonna get back to work."

He punches me lightly on the arm and nods. "Okay. We'll have to get together again soon, though. Four years has been too long."

I smile, then tip my hat to the waitress who's waitin' with pad and pen raised. "Ma'am," I say, and her cheeks bloom even darker. Without another word, I turn toward the exit.

The air is thick and heavy when I step outside the diner door. Cicadas chirp from the trees surroundin' the lot, and the sound is like music to my ears. After years of listenin' to mortar blasts, gunshots, and orders bein' shouted at me, the racket of the annoyin' little insects is sort of comfortin'. I'm not usually the type that needs much coddlin', but after the last few days, allowin' myself a tiny bit of solace seems more like a necessity. Never in my life have I been so frustrated and confused, and it doesn't seem like it's goin' to get any better any time soon.

As I make my way toward my truck, I notice another parked off near the back of the lot—one that's supposed to be gone. I stop in the middle of the lot. There's a Bella-shaped lump slumped up against the steerin' wheel, and I waver in my decision to just leave or to go over to her. Part of me feels like I should just let her be, but the other tells me to stop actin' like a pussy and to go see if she's okay. So instead of finishin' my trek to my own vehicle—which is probably exactly what I should do—I change directions and start toward hers.

My heart pounds in my chest and my nerves are stripped raw as I walk up to her window. Bella's arms are wrapped around her steerin' wheel, her face buried inside them, and her back is tremblin' in that way it does when someone is cryin'. I raise my hand and rap lightly on her window. She bolts up, wipin' at her face as she turns in my direction. Her eyes widen when she sees it's me, and she reaches over to roll down the window.

"Hey," she says, still blottin' at her red eyes and wet cheeks. Then she shakes her head and laughs at herself. "My truck won't start."

I wonder if she's tryin' to get me to think she's cryin' over a broken car, instead of what I think she's really cryin' over. "Do you need a ride?"

Bella chews at her bottom lip and stares at the dash. I'm very aware she's avoidin' lookin' at me. "No, thank you. I can get one from Emmett or Jake. Em's probably going to my house anyway, and Jake lives just up the street. I wouldn't want to burden you with having to drive out of your way for me."

"You could never be a burden to me, Bella."

She makes a sound low in her throat and bites her lip harder.

"Bella . . ."

"Please, Jasper," she whispers. "I can't."

I clench my jaw and my face heats. "You can't what? Talk to me? Look at me even?"

She squeezes her eyes shut and I press my fingers hard into the door of her truck.

"Look at me, Bella Mia."

She shakes her head, and now her lips are pressed together too.

"Just look at me," I say again.

And slowly, she lifts her face and turns it in my direction. Her eyes are still closed, but after a moment, they open too, and I am drownin' in brown. Fat tears roll over her cheeks, and I want to brush them away. I want to kiss them away. Every single part of me aches to touch her, but I stand there just lookin' back at her.

"Tell me what to do, darlin'. What do you need me to do?"

She stares at me, more tears makin' their way down her face, and I'm waitin' for her to say it, for her to tell me to go, for her to tell me she needs me to leave her alone for good. And goddamn it, I'll do it for her if she asks.

But she doesn't tell me that.

"Jasper," she says. "Will you just . . ."

My eyes feel heavy, like they want to close, like they can't bear to watch her say it.

"Will you . . ." she says, her expression suddenly uncertain. "Will you just hold me?"

I blink, not sure I'm hearin' what I think I'm hearin'. "Excuse me?"

She closes her eyes again. "I know it's wrong," she whispers, openin' them once more. "I know I shouldn't ask you for that, and I know it might hurt us both. But I'm sitting here looking at you, and you're asking me to tell you what I want you to do, and all I can think is that I want you to open my door, pull me out of this truck, and hold me. It's not rational, in fact, it's all kinds of messed up. But I just have to know. I have to know if I'm going to feel what I think I'm going to feel when you put your arms around me. So please," her voice breaks, "please, could you do that for me?"

I don't answer. Instead, I pull open her door. She's watchin' me with wide, dark eyes, and the way my heart races makes me wonder if it's goin' to gallop out of my chest. I reach in for her, and she places her hand in mine. It's small and soft, softer than I remember, even from three nights ago. I tug gently and she slides out of the truck, her feet landin' with a small scuffle against the pavement. The cicadas are still singin' all around us, but the only thing I hear is her voice in my head, askin' me to hold her. She lifts her head and gazes up at me, and in her eyes are questions, so many questions and fears. I want to put them to rest; I want to wipe them clean and show her she doesn't have to be afraid. That it's just me, and just her, and just us, and we're goin' to be okay.

I take her other hand and lift them both to my shoulders. She's tremblin', but she never looks away, and I feel a sort of pride bloomin' inside me at how determined she's bein'. I draw her in, closer and closer, slowly, just in case she needs me to stop, until I feel her chest brush mine. And then I lean in further, slidin' my hands around her tiny waist and up her back. Hers slip around my neck, and I tighten my grip. And then I'm holdin' her. I'm holdin' Bella. And it's like every cell in my body reacts at once. I'm hot and cold, and strong and weak, and she's like a wiltin' flower comin' back to life in my arms.

Her body sinks into me and she sucks in a gasp. "Oh, God," she whispers. "I feel it. Can you feel it?"

I close my eyes and nod. "I can feel it."

Because I can. I can feel it everywhere. It has no description; it can't, because it's everything and nothin' all at once. My veins run with it, my bones strengthen with it. It's all things undefined, raw, and untamed inside of both of us. And I don't want it to end. I never want it to end.

But I know the second I let her go it will.

I turn my face into her neck and hold her tighter. The scents of fryer grease and sweat are there in her hair, but underneath it all is the strawberry I remember. I want to engrain the scent into my memory. I want to memorize the brush of her cheek against mine.

"I'm not Alice's," I say, and I don't even know why, but then again, yeah, I do. I want her to know, need her to know, that I don't see myself as anyone's. "I'm not."

She nods against my shoulder.

"Tell me you know it."

She doesn't answer, but she doesn't let go either.

"Bella," I say, and I can feel her breath shudder against my neck.

"I know," she says, but the words are weak, and I know her resolve is too.

I sigh, because any time now she's goin' to pull away, and I don't think I can stand it again. "Let me take you home."

It takes her a moment, but, finally, she nods, and this feels like a victory. It's a small one—a really miniscule one. But with Bella, even a small step in the right direction is all I need.

I lead her across the parkin' lot to my truck and help her into the seat. When I turn to close the door, I feel her hand on my wrist. I look back at her, and her brown eyes are clear for the first time today. Her fingers trail down until they're intertwined with mine, and I'm afraid to breathe. She's touchin' me. She's touchin' me on her own, without any provocation or cause.

She chews on her lip for a few seconds, and then she says, "I'm not Edward's either."

And it's like someone has just restarted my heart.

"You know that too, right?"

I glance down at where we're joined, her hand entwined so perfectly with mine, and I can feel it in the far reaches of my soul that it belongs there. I brush my thumb over the top of her knuckles, feelin' her a little bit more, wishin' I didn't have to let her go, that she'd let me have her hand for just a while longer. But I know I have to, and she won't. I peer up at her from under the brim of my hat, and she's so pretty in the wanin' light, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to see anyone else.

"I know, darlin'," I answer. "I know."

* * *

_*swoon* I cannot._

_Until next time,_

_XOXO ddpjclaf_

_9Cs readers: I'm working hard toward an update next week!_


	6. Resist

**Chapter Six - "Resist"**

_So, I'm a day late for the actual "week" update. I apologize. I did have this written for posting yesterday, but I wasn't quite happy with it, so I held it until today, whereas I've had a chance to read it over and tweak what needed tweaking. I'm much happier now. I almost thought I was going to be a liar about getting this out because my brain and emotions were absolutely FRIED after the last 9Cs update. However, I have prevailed! _

_This is, as always, unbeta'd and I don't own anything Twilight related, just the plot and my words (and Jasper's dogtags.)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"Please, Bells. _Pleeeeeeeeeeease_ can I have one?" Emmett whines as I remove the last dozen blueberry swirl muffins from the oven.

"I already told you no," I say, swiping my forearm across my forehead to remove the sweat from my brow. I've been at this for hours and all I want now is a nice, long shower, maybe even a nap. God knows I could use the sleep. "I promised twelve dozen to the police station for their charity bake sale. I can't show up with eleven and almost another dozen."

Emmett leans in and whispers, albeit loudly. "No one will even know. Do you make it a habit to count your baked goods when you purchase them?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Emmett!" Rosalie slams her magazine down on the coffee table and stands. "Leave the poor girl alone." She walks into the kitchen. "Can't you see she's been slaving over these all day?" She glances down at the array of goodies on the counter and plucks a blueberry off the top of one of the nearest muffins.

"Hey!" I say, but she just snickers in return.

"That," she points to the now blueberry-less muffin top, "they never _will_ notice." Then she turns to Emmett, grabs him around the back of the neck, and kisses him long and deep, all slurping and tongues. Ugh. Gross. I almost gag.

When she pulls back, Emmett's face is fixed in a blank, dream-like expression. He licks his lips. "Mmm, blueberry."

Rose glances at me from over her shoulder. "You're welcome," she says. "He's gotten a taste, so now your precious muffins are safe." She grabs a fistful of Emmett's shirt and drags him with her back into the living room.

"You almost made me vomit in my mouth!" I yell after their retreating forms.

Her cackle follows me as I turn back to the job at hand and start removing the muffins from the tin.

"What almost made you vomit?"

I let out a screech and nearly drop the muffin in my hand, juggling it several times before finally catching it and setting down on the counter with the others. Placing my hand to my chest, I turn and spy Alice standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her head tilted to the side and a large, handled shopping bag in her hand.

"Jesus, Ally, you almost made me drop my muffin."

"I'll eat it if it's ruined!" Emmett calls from the living room.

"Shut up about the muffins, Emmett!" I reply.

He grumbles something I can't make out, and Ally shakes her head and hops up onto the counter. "It's never boring around here is it?"

I wipe at my forehead again and look around at the giant mess I've made, dreading the clean up. "Unfortunately not."

She smiles, but there's something behind it. It's not as light and carefree as it usually is.

I frown and lean back against the counter. "What's up, Ally Cat?"

Alice closes her eyes for a second before opening them again and focusing on the bag in her hands. It dangles between her legs, her fingers holding the thin handles just with their tips. "I did something," she says. "And I'm not really sure I should have."

I cross my arms over my chest and watch as she fidgets. Alice has never been one to sit still, but this is different. She's not just moving around because she's a busybody, she's twisting and turning and bouncing because she's nervous about something.

"What'd you do, Al?"

She glances up and lets out a breath. "I bought something for Jasper."

My heart stutters at the sound of his name and I immediately fight to squash it back. My brows rise of their own accord. "Oh?" I try to keep my voice casual, but I hear the slight tremor at the very end of the word. I clear my throat and try again. "Why would that be bad? Everyone likes presents."

"Because," she says, picking at a non-existent piece of lint on her shorts. "It feels . . . inappropriate."

I don't answer and try my best not to think about all the inappropriate things _I've _been thinking, feeling, and acting like around Jasper.

"I'm the last person in the world that should be buying him birthday presents," she continues.

Birthday presents? I wrack my brain, trying to wrap it around what she's saying, and then it clicks. My eyes shift to the calendar hanging on the wall next to the refrigerator. It _is_ Jasper's birthday. I have no idea how I forgot. Even when he was gone, I'd remembered. Every single year, when I was trying so hard to forget him, forget his face, forget the feel of his hands, forget the taste of his mouth, on this day I thought about him anyway.

"I just . . . God, Bella," Alice says, peering up at me with wide, gray eyes. "He looks exactly the same, doesn't he?"

I swallow hard, remembering back to the other day when he drove me home, when I'd been thinking almost the exact opposite.

It had been almost torturous to sit in that cab alone with him, my nerves still tingling from the memory of the soft pressure of his arms around me, the scratch of the scruff of his cheek as it brushed against mine, and the warm of his breath as it filtered through and displaced my hair. I wanted him to reach over and touch me again, to see if that thrill was still there, that addicting spark that seemed to shoot through his skin and settle up under mine. It took everything I had not to shudder at the thought of it.

These were not the things I was used to feeling and noticing about him. I didn't used to note the length of his fingers and how strong they looked as they tapped the steering wheel to the beat on the radio. I didn't used to discern how the color of his eyes changed from dark blue to the lightest aqua, depending on his mood. And I never saw the way his biceps curved into a perfect arc, how his body wasn't too bulky or too thin, or just how much his dimples added to his smile. No, I'd never noticed a single thing like that about Jasper Whitlock back then, but now those things were all I could see.

So, when Alice brings this up, I don't answer, because, although all of his features, his demeanor, the way he talks, looks, and moves, are all the same, he's also completely different. A familiar stranger in the form of one of my best friends.

". . . you know what I mean?" Alice continues, and I have to force myself to listen once more. "He's just . . . he still looks like my Jasper, and somehow it makes me feel like he still is. Like I still know him. Like I still know him like _that_. But it's been four years Bells, and I know how stupid that is. Especially after the way I left things. I'm sure he's a different person now. I know I am, and I also know I don't have a right to think about him like that. But I can't help remembering things and wondering . . ."

My chest burns. She called him _her_ Jasper.

I fight against myself not to feel the irrational aggression bubbling up inside of me. She has a right to her memories, but I don't to mine. Not about him. I have to remember that.

Alice reaches down into the bag and pulls out a white cowboy hat. It looks almost identical to the black one Jasper's worn ever since I can remember. "And I couldn't help buying him this damn hat." She snorts. "Pretty stupid, huh?"

There are so many emotions warring inside of me in response: fear, anger, jealousy, spite. I can't look at her right now and not feel them, even though she doesn't deserve a single one. So, I turn and pick up the half-empty pan of muffins and continue to remove them, setting them out onto the cooling racks lining the counter, breathing in and out, in and out, in long, slow inhales and exhales. I want to clench my fists. I want to bang them on the counter in frustration. I want my heart not to ache and my stomach not to hurt.

"It's not stupid, Al," I finally say, fighting against the tremor I feel in my words.

Alice sighs, and I hear her slide the hat back into the bag and hop off the counter. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better, B. I know it is." She steps up beside me and places the bag next to where I stand at the counter. My spine tingles and I sideways glance over at it. My chest is tight with some ugly emotion I can't bear to put a name to, and I want to rip the bag off the counter and throw it out the window. "That's why I need a favor," Alice says.

My hand freezes in the middle of pulling out another muffin. "What kind of favor?" And now the unnamed emotion has turned to dread, because I know what she wants before she even says it.

"I need you to take this to him for me."

I can't help the way my stomach flips at the thought of seeing him, and then how it clenches when I think about the reason why. "Why?" I turn away and grab the bag of flour to put it back into the pantry, willing my cheeks not to heat.

"Because," Alice whines, following me across the room, "I don't think he wants to be around me right now. I mean, he wouldn't even hug me back at the diner yesterday, and I just thought he might be more comfortable with you."

I set the flour up on the shelf, my fingers trembling as I pull them away.

"You were always good with him, B. You always knew what to say when I didn't, and I just want a chance to show him that I'm sorry, you know? I've said it. I've said it so many times in all the letters I sent over the years, but he never responded. And I said it yesterday, but . . ." She pauses and sighs. "I just want a chance."

My chest aches more at what she's saying. I can hear something in her voice when she says wants a chance. A chance with _Jasper_. I don't know if that means she wants a romantic one or just a friendship one. Either way, I'm the last person she should be coming to for help. Not because I know I want any chances of my own, but because I don't goddamn know that I don't.

"Alice," I say, turning back toward her, the words I need to say stuck in my throat. This whole thing, this whole situation, the parts I know and all the ones that are still unknown to me, is eating away at me every single day. "You should really just do this yourself."

"I know I should, but I can't. Not yet anyway. I think I need to give him space before I start shoving myself in his face again. He hasn't seen me in four years, so all he sees when he does is the little bitch I was to him the night before he left." She glances up at me, the pleading in her eyes hooking me in the heart. "Please do this for me, Bella."

I grit my teeth because I can feel myself giving in to her, just like I always have. It's part of the reason I pulled away in college. She has always been the more lively of the two of us, and I have always been weak. It just got to be too much to be in her shadow, to follow along after her and live just outside of everything she had going on. And, of course, there was also the guilt. Always the guilt.

"But, Ally . . . I'd look like an idiot going there just to give him a present from you." It's a weak excuse, but, like I said, I'm weak, so it makes sense.

"So . . . don't go there just for that. You could . . . oh!" Her eyes widen and she bounces a bit on her toes. "You could bring him a present of your own!"

I push past her and start to gather more baking supplies to put away. "But I don't have a present for him."

"You could bring him muffins!" She holds up a box of already packed muffins, her face lit with an encouraging smile.

"No I can't," I say, taking the box from her. "Those are for the charity bake sale down at the police station. They're already promised out. Besides, Emmett would kill me if I gave them to anyone other than him."

"Damn right!" Emmett calls from the other room.

"Then make him some more," Alice insists, and I can tell she's not going to give up. She never does. "You could make those pecan pie ones your mom always used to make. Remember how much he loved them? He used to eat almost the entire batch every time."

I close my eyes and try to push back the sadness that comes over me when I think of my mother. It's only been a little over two years since my parents' accident, and sometimes the thought of them is still so raw it hurts to breathe.

"Please, Bella," Alice says, and I can feel my surrender in my bones.

"All right, Ally. All right."

She lets out a high-pitched squeal and throws her arms around my neck. I don't feel good about helping her, I feel like shit. "Thank you," she says as she pulls away. "I need to get to the office, like, ten minutes ago, but just . . . thank you."

I nod as she bounds toward the hall leading to the front door.

When the door clicks, I turn back toward the kitchen and stop in front of the refrigerator. What the hell did I just promise to do? Furthermore, _why_ did I promise it? Why do I always do everything she wants?

Reaching out, I open the freezer door and pull out the last bag of frozen pecans left over from when Rose and I went picking. My entire body is clenched tight, my mind overloaded with thoughts and feelings and questions. It shouldn't be this hard to make a batch of muffins for an old friend. It shouldn't be this hard to take a gift to said old friend without nearly going into hysterics. It shouldn't be this difficult to put that night in the past and forget it, to focus on the here and now and to see Jasper Whitlock the way I always used to.

It shouldn't be, but it is.

.o.O.o.

I feel like I've been transported back to my childhood when I pass under the large iron arch to Whitlock ranch. It's been years since I've been here, but everything looks the same as it did then. The fencing lined with barbed wire, where Jasper, Edward, Rose and I used to dare each other to try to climb without ripping a hole in our jeans, still surrounds the front pastures and follows the dirt drive all the way to the modest sized two-story home I know resides there. Horses graze inside the enclosure, and the sound of a tractor nearby reaches my ears.

I drive with my windows down despite the heat because I love the way the country smells: hot, humid wind, laced with hay, dirt, and sweat. A lot of people complain about the scent of manure that's always a factor anywhere there are farm animals, but I really don't notice. There are so many memories associated with this place and those smells it's hard to think of any of them as bad or gross.

My heart swells the closer I get to the house. Just being here makes me miss the days when I lived just a few miles up the road in our tiny, shack of a home. I'd been tempted to drive past on my way here, but I know that even now, more than two years since the day it happened, I still can't bear to see the empty lot, to take in the blackened ground that surrounds where my house once stood.

As I make my way around the last curve and the Whitlock family home comes into view, the large wrap-around porch adorned with a dozen hanging pots of flowers, my heart pangs for a different reason. It was here that everything began, or ended, as it were. It was on these very steps where I took it upon myself to comfort my friend and to blur all the lines between what made a friend and what made more.

I stop in front of the door and am just putting my car into park, when the screen door screeches open and Jasper's mother steps out onto the porch. I can't help the smile that stretches over my face as I grab the bags on the seat next to me and push open the car door.

Mama Whitlock puts her hands on her hips, her body adorned in a flowered sundress and an apron like usual, and gives me the warmest smile, which ends in shallow dimples identical to her son's. "Why, Bella Marie, as I live and breathe!" she says. "Git yer adorable lil' self over here and gimme some sugar."

I bound up the stairs and wrap my arms around her. She's not a small woman, but she's not large either. She's just right, and she smells like cinnamon, butter, and my childhood.

"Hi, Mama W," I say, burying my face into her neck.

She squeezes me hard. "Goodness, child, ya need to eat more. Yer nothin' but skin and bones. Remind me before ya leave and I'll get ya some lard for yer cookin'."

I giggle and pull away, keeping my hands on her shoulders as I look into her eyes. It's no question where Jasper gets his looks. From Mama W's curly blonde hair, to the blue twinkle in her eyes, to those adorable dimples in her cheeks, he is definitely his mother's son.

"It's good to see you," I say.

"Been a long time, lil' miss," she says, and I see the way she looks me over. Like a mother does a daughter. "You been doin' okay since . . .?"

She doesn't finish her thought, but I know what she means.

"Yeah, I'm doing okay." I step back and fiddle with the bottom of my shirt, uncomfortable with the way she's studying me. Mama Whitlock always had an uncanny way of seeing through me. I worry about what she sees now.

"I reckon yer here for my son?"

The question is innocent and accurate, but it makes my cheeks heat.

I nod and reach down for the bags I dropped when I hugged her. "I come bearing birthday goodies. He here?"

She nods and tips her chin toward the stables situated near the side of the property. "That Jasper, I tell ya. Always goin' on 'bout them damn horses," she says, but I see the adoration in her eyes when she talks about her son. I think I know how she feels.

I swallow back a sudden flare of nerves. "Well, I'll just . . ." I gesture over my shoulder in the direction of the stables.

Mama Whitlock chuckles in a knowing way. "Come back 'round more often, Bella Marie, ya hear? We miss y'all."

"I hear, Mama W," I say, as I turn toward the drive and make my way quickly across to where the horses are kept.

My heart starts to skip beats when I get close enough to see the stalls inside. I slow way down, my feet only pulling me inches at a time. Pausing just before the entrance, I draw in a breath to calm myself, and I want to slap myself silly. This is ridiculous; I know it is. This is just Jasper.

_Just Jasper. _

I close my eyes and inhale slowly. I have to learn to deal with this, with him, or I'm never going to get over this. But I know I'm lying to myself. He's isn't just Jasper anymore. He hasn't been for a long time.

Drawing in another breath, I hold it as I step through the doorway and into the stables, exhaling when another wave of nostalgia washes over me. Several stalls stretch the length of the building, each containing a different horse, some I recognize, some I don't. The sounds of snorts and swishes of tails echo between the walls, and small particles of dust glitter in the shaft of light coming from the back door. I can't help but smile when I remember Jasper in here as a boy. This had always been his domain.

When we were kids, he used to spend hours out here, brushing, talking to, and cleaning up after the horses. His dad used to get after him so often for shirking his other duties just to get more time out here with the animals. Edward and Rose used to tease him mercilessly, calling him horse lover and naying at him constantly, but I thought it was sweet. Even though I'd always been somewhat frightened of the powerful beasts, Jasper treated them as if they were as harmless as puppies or kittens. He was so caring, so gentle with them, and they responded in kind, nuzzling him and nipping at his arms in playful, loving expressions.

I'd always been sort of awed by the way he was on this ranch, by the way he didn't hold himself back the way he did when he was with us, how he didn't fade into the background and let everyone else shine in front of him.

Here he was the one who shone.

As I walk further into the stables, I spy him down near the end, his body just a silhouette against the large, open doors. He's standing in front of the last stall, his hands swiping slowly, gently over the mane of a beautiful brown mare. He's speaking to her, quietly, in that gentle, soft voice he'd always used with the animals, and she's brushing her face along his shoulder, nuzzling her nose into his neck. And the sight of it all: his complete tenderness and care for one of God's creatures, and her obvious love and devotion to him, makes goosebumps rise all over my body. Because I remember once when he touched me that gently, praised me so truthfully, spoke to me so softly.

And suddenly I can't remember how to breathe.

The horse in the stall next to where I stand snorts, and I jump back in surprise, a short "eep" escaping my lips.

"Bella?"

I hear my name and turn toward the sound. Jasper has left his post near the end of the stables and is coming toward me. As he nears, I notice his hands and clothes are covered in dust from a long day of work, but that doesn't keep me from noticing the way his jeans hang just right off his hips or how cowboy boots can actually look sexy. My stomach does about a million somersaults when he stops in front of me, his hat shadowing his eyes, his body covered in dirt and grime and sweat, and, oh my God, it's beautiful.

"What're ya doin' here?" he asks.

For a moment I can't speak. All I can do is look at him. I feel like I'm seeing him for the first time, though it's really been more times than I can count. I'm noticing so many things I never did before, like how his lower lip is fuller than the top, how his brows and lashes are dark even though his hair is light, like how when he speaks, he doesn't move his mouth much with his words, but when he smiles, it's bigger and brighter than anyone else's.

I swallow and take step back, because apparently his proximity is making me stupid. I hold up the bags. "Happy birthday?"

It takes him a second, but then his lips curve up, slowly, until his smile overtakes his whole face. And my breath is gone again.

"You remembered my birthday?" he asks.

"Ah, well, kinda." My stomach plummets. He raises one brow, and I almost choke on my nerves. "Alice sorta reminded me when she brought this." I raise the bag with the hat in it.

Jasper takes it, his face falling slightly. "Oh," he says. "Well, that was mighty kind of her."

I nod and watch as he pulls the hat out of the bag and shakes his head. "She was always goin' on about me lookin' better in white." He takes off his old hat and puts on the new one. "Whatcha think? She right?"

I give him a small, shaky smile and reach up until my fingers touch the rim. "It's nice," I say, then I lift it off from his head. "But I think you looked perfect just the way you were." I take his tattered, dirty, black hat from his hand and place it back in its place. "There."

His eyes linger on mine, and I can feel my face heat. I wonder if he noticed the tremor in my voice.

"Better?" he asks.

I can't speak, so I just nod. Jasper looks down at the other bag in my hand.

"That for me too?" He glances up at me from under the brim of his hat, and I swear my stomach is getting its exercise today because it leaps into my throat.

"Uh," I say, because he has struck me speechless, absolutely speechless. I don't know what it is about him. I don't know if it's what happened in the past. I don't know if it's right now, but I feel like he's got me by the neck and isn't letting me go.

"Bella?" he says, and I finally snap out of it, shaking my head a little to clear the fog.

"Oh, yeah." I hand him the bag, and he takes it, his fingers brushing mine and nearly making me shiver. "I made you these."

He gives me a questioning look and peers down into the bag.

"Oh, Jesus," he groans, and I can feel it down to my toes. "You kiddin' me with this?"

I shake my head. "Not kidding. They're your favorites, right?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

I chew on my bottom lip and glance up at him. I see it the second he realizes.

"Ah," he says. "Alice again, right?"

"Yeah," I say.

He nods slowly and turns toward the workbench in the corner, setting the bags carefully on the tabletop. "Well, thank you both."

I feel horrible that I didn't remember by myself. I feel horrible about a lot of things, but the way his eyes dimmed after I told him it was Alice who reminded me, well, I think I feel worst about that.

"I remembered every other year," I blurt, and he freezes. "I—I've been distracted lately. I'm sorry."

Jasper turns. "You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for, Bella Mia."

"But I am."

"Why?" he says, frowning.

"Because we were friends once." I lower my voice. "I hope we still are."

"Of course we are," he says, with a small smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. We stare at each other in awkward silence for a few moments, and then he clears his throat. "Could ya give Alice my thanks? I'm not sure when I'll see her."

"Yeah, sure."

He nods again, and then he looks back down to the other end of the stables. It's so uncomfortable, I don't have a clue what to do with myself. I wish there was a way to break through this awkward phase, a way to either get back to what we were or to move forward, but I just don't know how to do it.

"Well, I should get back to . . ." he finally says, gesturing toward the horse at the end of the building.

"Oh, yeah, okay," I say, but I don't move, as I'm pretty sure my feet are glued to the ground.

He stands there looking at me for a second, as if he wants to say more, but he doesn't. Instead, he tips his hat like he would to anyone else, a stranger even. "Well, I guess I'll be seein' ya 'round, then, Bella." He starts to walk away, back toward where he was when I'd arrived.

He doesn't get more than a few feet away before my mouth acts without my brain's permission. "I'm sorry," I say.

He stops and turns back to me, his brows furrowed.

I move toward him, stopping only when I'm merely a foot or so away. "I'm sorry," I say again, quieter this time. "I don't know how to do . . . this." I gesture between us. "I don't know how to act."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, and he's not looking at me, but down at his boots. When he does finally speak, his voice is quiet, controlled. "You know how you said you don't know how to look at me anymore?"

I swallow hard and nod, answering aloud when I remember he can't see me. "Yes."

Finally, he meets my gaze. "Well, I don't have that problem. I can look at you." His eyes move from one of mine to the other and he moves closer, his voice lowering even further. "I can look at you all day long and I'll always see the same thing. The problem, Bella Mia, is that I don't think you don't know how to look at me. I think you do, you just don't want to admit what you see when you let yourself."

My breath shakes when I exhale. "That's not fair, Jasper," I say. "How can you just be so—"

"Because I don't feel bad about what happened four years ago. I never did." He steps into me, and I have to fight with myself not to pull away. He tucks a finger under my chin and lifts my face up to his. "I stopped belongin' to Alice Brandon the moment she told me she wanted someone else." His thumb brushes my chin. "And I stopped wantin' to belong to her the moment you kissed me." He shakes his head. "Now I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable or if it makes your guilt worse. That's not my intention, but it's the only truth I've got." He pauses and then lets me go. "You just gotta figure out yours."

He starts to walk away once more. "What if I can't?"

"What if you can't what?"

I hurry over and step in front of him again. "What if I can't figure it out? What if I can't decipher between what are old feelings and what are new ones? What if I can't tell the difference between shame and guilt? What if I . . . what if I walk away and I never know? What if I regret it for the rest of my life? And what if I don't and I lose everything that's ever meant anything to me, including you?"

He stares down at me, and I can't help but keep going, my mouth still not listening to my head.

"These are the things I keep asking myself, that I keep going over and over in my mind. I haven't slept in almost a week, and I can't stop thinking about that night. I still don't understand how it happened or why. But I also can't see how it couldn't have. I mean . . ."

I don't know what I'm saying. I'm rambling on and on and I can't stop, because this is the confusion that lives inside my head. This is what he brings out of me.

"And I do look at you," I whisper. "I do, and I _do_ see things. I just . . . I just see things I don't think I should. And then I go home and I try to escape it all, to think, to breathe, and I can't because they are always there. All of them. And they're constantly talking about you and Alice, and how you were with Alice, and how you 'belong' to Alice. And I keep thinking about it too, and then I think about how you were with me and I can't . . . I just can't . . ."

I draw in a shallow, shaky breath, my heart pounding in my chest, my throat tight and sore, my stomach knotted up so hard I feel sick. And he's looking down at me, like he doesn't know what to say either, and all I can do is tell the truth. "And I can't breathe."

Jasper opens his mouth, and I'm afraid of what he's going to say. Is he going to tell me I'm crazy? Because I feel crazy, and I certainly sound crazy. But he doesn't say that. Instead, he says, "Come on," and grabs my hand, pulling me the rest of the way to the end of the stable.

"Jasper, what are you doing?" I ask as he stops in front of the stall he'd been by earlier, opens the door, and steps inside. "Jasper?" I ask again. "What are you doing?"

He leads the horse out into the open section of the stable and climbs up onto her. His movements are so smooth, so sure, when I'm nearly quaking in my shoes watching him. After a moment, he looks down at me and holds out his hand. "We're gonna help you breathe, darlin'."

I step back on instinct. "No way. Are you insane?"

Jasper sighs. "When are you goin' to stop lettin' your fear rule you?" he asks. "You wanna breathe? You want a chance to think without everything else gettin' in the way? Then take my hand, Bella, and let me show you how."

My legs are trembling and I want so badly to reach out and take what he's offering. "I don't know how if I can."

Jasper holds out his hand further. "Don't think about what makes you afraid. Don't think at all. Just climb on and let go."

I'm not sure if he knows he is addressing two things at once, but I'm hearing his words in every part of me. I look from his hand to his face, my indecision probably clear on my face. I'm not a brave person; I never have been. That much has been evident from the moment I touched him four years ago, and then ran away. When there's trouble or discomfort, or any sort of hard decision, I run. I falter. But right now, in this moment, when I meet his eyes and I can see the way he wants this, I can see how much he's risking to ask, suddenly, I want to be brave enough to say yes.

I start to reach out for him, but then I hesitate. "You promise you won't let me fall?"

His gaze is steady, and it feels like he's looking all the way down to the deepest depths of me. "I won't let you get hurt, Bella."

I read way more into his words than I'm sure he means. But maybe, I don't. Reaching out, I take the hand he's offering, and it is strong and sure as he pulls me up onto the horse with him. It feels strange and unsteady as the animal shifts beneath us, but Jasper is solid and sturdy behind me.

"You okay?" he says, his face right next to my ear, his voice quiet and soft, his breath caressing the side of my neck. I can't hold back my shiver at his words, at his closeness, at everything.

"I'm scared," I say, and I mean it in so many different ways.

Jasper grabs the reins in front of me, and his arms lock me in between them. "You don't need to be scared. I got you, darlin'."

And he does, in more ways than he knows.

My body sinks into him, my back to his chest, my backside nestled into his hips. His arms cage me in, and I don't feel anything else but him.

"Go slow," I whisper, and it comes out like a plea. By the way his breath stutters, I think he knows I don't just mean the horse.

"I'll go any speed you want, Bella Mia."

As he guides the horse out into the sun and heat, my heart hammers in my chest. I feel so unsteady, so out of control. There's nothing to hold, nothing to anchor me to the animal beneath me, to anything, except Jasper. So, I reach out and grab onto his hands, my grip stronger than it should be considering he's trying to steer a horse. But he doesn't say anything about it, instead, he stretches his pointer fingers up to curl around mine, and just that small movement, that tiny piece of stability, makes me feel grounded and safe.

I hold tight to the tiny connection he's offered me, and I say, "Don't let go."

My muscles clench with the fear coursing inside of me; only, I know it's not my distress over being perched precariously on top of a very strong, very unpredictable animal, like I'm trying to convince myself. It's my fear of the confusing feelings swirling around inside of me for the man behind me. This vulnerability, this surrender, is the scariest thing I've ever allowed myself to feel before.

Scarier than leaving Edward when I had no idea how to be on my own.

Scarier than waking up morning after morning in the arms of another man I didn't know.

Scarier than having to point my stalker out in a police lineup.

And I'm not sure I can stick to it. I can feel the urge to run again, to slip off from this horse and out of Jasper's grip, to tell him to forget what I just said, to forget me. I can feel it all building, taking me over, changing my mind—

Until he answers.

And his answer: his whispered, confident, no-doubt reply is the only thing I need to hear to make me want to try.

"I won't let go, darlin'."

* * *

_I'm not sure I have any words after that. I think I've died of swoons. But I think Bella's starting to crack. Maybe? Hopefully?_

_Until next time,_

_XOXO ddpjclaf_


	7. Reignite

****Disclaimer: All Twilight characters are the property of Stephenie Meyer. Only the words herein are the property of ddpjclaf 2013. Please do not copy, translate, or repost without express written permission.****

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_**Chapter Seven - "Reignite"**_

_Y'all ready for this? (flashback to my cheerleading days!)_

_I've been a swoonin' fool writing this chapter. I hope you like it. :)_

_This is still unbeta'd and the characters are still not mine. *sigh* Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight._

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I don't reckon I've ever been so aware of someone else in my entire life. But with Bella right here in front of me, her back to my chest, her ass nestled squarely into my hips, her hands intertwined with mine on the reins, I feel what it's like to have one bein' become the focus of all of my senses. Every move she makes, every twitch of muscle, every breath that lifts her shoulders, every sigh and squeak and hum that comes from her mouth, I feel, see, and hear with absolute clarity.

It's a bit disconcertin' to be so in tune like that. Like my thoughts are her thoughts, my breath, her breath. My whole body is alive with her, and I'm findin' it hard to focus on what I'm doin'. All I can concentrate on is how tight Bella's grippin' my hands, or how when my mare, Maggie, sways beneath us, Bella's body presses a little bit more into mine. Good thing Maggie knows these trails as well as I do or we might be wanderin' 'round without aim. As it is, she struts along confidently and I try to hold my shit together atop her.

Bella is quiet, almost . . . serene, as we make our way through the wooded area along the outskirts of the ranch. There has been no conversation, no anything, but there really hasn't needed to be. We just seem to . . . get it, get each other, get that we're both processin' all this stuff in our own way. And so I stay silent too.

I can't help but compare this double ride with the last one I took. The only other one I took.

Alice had never been too fond of horses—actually, she'd never been too fond of anything that had to do with ranchin'. She didn't like any of the animals, the smells, the flies, or the clothin'. It was like pullin' teeth just to get her to come out here to me instead of me comin' to her, so gettin' her to ride had been damn near impossible. The only way I'd managed it was to bribe her with bein' able to dress me for a week. That promise had been like the Holy Grail to her. One week without seein' cowboy boots and hats and plain t-shirts. One week of her bein' able to make me over into her vision of perfection.

Ironically, her vision was nothin' like me.

I reckon I shoulda taken all that as a sign, but y'all know what they say 'bout fools in love, and I was a fool in love.

Unfortunately it was with a girl who coulda never been truly happy with a simple cowboy like me.

In her letters, Alice claimed she'd been lyin', that she'd only been tryin' to get me to stay, but I'm not really sure that's all it was. Maybe she didn't know it then, maybe she doesn't know it now, but what she did back then was the best thing for both of us. No matter how infatuated we may have been with one another, we never woulda worked in the long run. Alice was runways, city lights, and the latest fashions. I was stirrups, lassos, and cowboy hats.

But Bella . . .

Bella was always somethin' else. More like me, but not really, at the same time. She was comfortable in the country, but she wasn't a cowgirl in any sense of the word. She preferred her books and her writin', but there'd always been somethin' 'bout her that resonated with me. Somethin' quiet and humble and familiar that drew me in, that made me more comfortable 'round her than anyone else. Her style was simple, understated and shy. No make up or fancy hair, nothin' swathin' her curvy frame but simple jeans and t-shirts. I'd been too blinded by Alice's stars to notice her as anything other than the girl down the road back then.

But I see her now.

I see her, and I'm blinded again.

The sun is on its downward path in the sky, shots of pink and orange startin' to paint the horizon, but Bella makes no noises about turnin' back. In fact, she doesn't speak at all. She stares out at the surroundin' scenery, takin' it all in as if she's never seen it before, and the awe radiates from her. I don't blame her; everything looks different, better, from the back of a horse.

I lean in a bit. "You okay up there?"

Bella nods. "Yeah. I'm good."

"You sure? We can stop whenever you want."

She shakes her head. "No. It's . . . it's great."

"Mmm," I say, leanin' in closer. Rogue strands of her hair, which is gathered into a loose braid at the back of her head, drag along my neck and jaw, leavin' behind traces of her scent—strawberry with a hint of pecan—on my skin.

"I wish I'd come sooner," she says quietly, before turnin' her head toward me. "Would you have taken me if I'd come back then? Back when we were in school?"

"Of course," I say. "Woulda even taught ya to ride on your own."

Bella turns back to face forward, and says, "I'm not sure I would've liked that as much."

"Oh no? Why's that?"

She's quiet for a moment, and I wonder if she's goin' to answer at all. "I've always been kind of scared of the horses. They're so big and strong and . . . intimidating. And because . . . "

"Because . . .?" I ask when she doesn't finish.

She draw's in a slow, deep breath, and I feel it in every place we're touchin'. "Because I'm not sure it's the actual horse riding I like so much."

My breath catches, and I swear my heart stops.

"Can we go to the stream?" she says. "I haven't been there in so long, and I . . . I think it'd be a good place to talk."

I should be thrilled that she wants to talk. It's what I've been wantin' since I got back. But there's somethin' 'bout the way she says it, how her words are flat and resigned that makes my stomach clench instead of flip.

"All right," I say, as I pull on the reins to head toward the stream that runs the border of our property.

Bella is quiet as Maggie makes her way over the uneven terrain, the clomp clomp of her hooves the only sound between us. Usually I don't mind the silence, but this time I can't stand the way it makes my mind race. I grip the reins harder, squeezin' Bella in between my arms.

Just a little bit harder. Just a little bit closer. Because it's lookin' more and more like this is the only way I'm ever gonna have her. Just a little. Just enough to be torturous.

Up ahead, the trees start to thin and the distinct sound of rushin' water hits my ears. I know the significance of this place to Bella, because it holds the same importance to me.

I pull on the reins and call out a soft, "Whoa, Maggie."

We come to a stop, and I gather the reins in one hand, while pattin' Maggie lightly on the neck with the other. She nickers quietly and turns her head a bit to reach my hand. I smile when Bella jumps as Maggie nudges her leg instead.

"Don't worry," I say. "She won't hurt ya, darlin'. She's just tryin' to get to me." I pass the reins to Bella. "Hold on to these now." Once she takes them, I slide off the horse's back and come 'round front, continuin' to smooth my hand over Maggie's neck to keep her calm, talkin' to her quietly like she likes. She bumps my side with her nose.

"She loves you," Bella says, her voice soft, contemplative.

"Aw, well. My Pa'd beg to differ." I keep pettin' Maggie, and she continues to bump me and nicker.

"Why?" Bella eyes me, and I can't help but admire the way she looks sittin' up there, her back straight and tall, hair mussed from the wind, confidence emanatin' from her, even though not so long ago she'd been scared to even get on.

A pretty girl straddlin' a horse.

It's like every cowboy's wet dream, even the ones whose mamas raised 'em right.

I clear my throat and try to push the thought aside. "He doesn't think animals can have emotions like humans. Says we're just all they know, and they respect us as their caretakers and companions, so they act docile. But really they'd leave us at the drop of a hat if given the chance."

Bella reaches down to pet Maggie the way I am, our fingers brushin' every so often between strokes. "Do you believe that?"

"Do I believe they don't have emotions?"

"Like us. Emotions like us."

I glance back down at Maggie, watchin' the way she's rubbin' her face up and down my arm, the way she licks the salt off from my skin softer than she does the salt block at the stable. "I don't think they have emotions exactly like ours, but I believe they feel things in their own way. In the way they can."

Bella doesn't say anything for several seconds, and I look back up at her, findin' her frownin' down at the horse's neck. "Maybe they don't have the ability to complex feelings like us, but I think maybe that makes the ones they do have better, more pure. Because they're simple. Easy." She sighs. "Sometimes I wish for that. For the things I feel to be simple and easy."

I swallow against the tightness in my throat, because I know it's time to hash this out. Givin' Maggie one last pat, I reach up to Bella. "Come on, Bella Mia."

She doesn't hesitate the way Alice did. She doesn't make me promise six different times that I won't drop her, and then stare at me like she doesn't believe me when I swear it; she just grabs hold of my forearms, with all the trust in the world reflectin' in her eyes, swings her other leg over so her whole body's facin' me, and surrenders herself to my grasp. I step back slowly, and her hands slip down my arms until they're braced at my shoulders. The burn of her touch ignites my skin, and I steady her with my hands on her hips as she pushes herself off the horse. My arms clench with her weight as I lift her, and then her body slides down the length of mine as I lower her the rest of the way.

Her toes touch the dirt, and I know I should let go, but I can't seem to unclench my fingers from her sides. She feels better than any girl I've ever touched before, softer, yet tougher at the same time. Her hands are still graspin' my shoulders and her eyes are fixated on mine, her breath shallow and warm against my neck. It's like I'm touchin' heaven but am still stuck in hell at the same time. We're standin' toe to toe, chest to chest, and even though it should be awkward, bein' this close feels as natural as breathin'.

Bella clears her throat and takes a step back, her cheeks bloomin' pink and her fingers trailin' down the length of my chest when she removes them from my body. It's like she's cuttin' straight through me with that feather-light touch, and then tossin' a match inside and settin' me on fire. I want to pull her back in, to snuff out the flames her pullin' away ignites in me, to let her know that if I had my choice, I'd never let her go. But I don't, and I do it anyway; I let her go.

She starts toward the openin' in the trees by the stream, and I secure Maggie to the post my Pa erected years ago. I pull the ropes taut with more strength than I need, but the tension buildin' inside won't allow me to be gentle. It's bubblin' up and over, threatenin' to pull me down into it. I close my eyes and try to focus on breathin' but it's damn near impossible when it feels like somethin's lodged in my chest.

Givin' Maggie one last pat, I open my eyes and turn in the direction Bella went, followin' the pull I feel straight to her. When the last of the trees pass me by and the runnin' water comes into view, I stop right at the back edge of the large, flat rock we'd always used as a dock as kids. She's standin' at the other side near the water, with her back to me and her face lifted to the sky. And I don't know if it's the way the light's hittin', or if it's just her, but she's the prettiest goddamn thing I reckon I've ever seen.

I take a step forward, my boots scrapin' along the rock below me and Bella turns in my direction. She doesn't move as I come closer, her eyes intent on mine. I can't tell if she wants me near or if she wants me to keep my distance. Her expression gives away nothin', so I choose somethin' in between.

For a few moments, we both stare out over the stream, watchin' as the dragonflies chase each other just above the surface of the water. And, in a way, it reminds me of what Bella and I are doin'. Chasin', chasin' chasin', not really knowin' why or how but not bein' able to stop, and not able to catch each other either.

"This is where we met," she says after several minutes of silence between us. "Right over there." She points to a muddy, shallow alcove next to a giant oak. "You asked me if I knew I had a frog in my pocket."

"It was a toad, not a frog," I answer, grinnin' when she rolls her eyes.

"Toad, frog, whatever. My point is: this is where we met."

And then she smiles back. It's soft, careful, but full of meanin' too. I wonder if she knows just how beautiful she is when she smiles like that. I'm not even sure if I know, all I can say is that it hurts in the best possible way.

"I remember," I say, picturin' that little girl in her dirty overalls, ratty pigtails, the brown toad shoved in her pocket. "You named him Charlie, after your dad."

She snorts, and covers her mouth to stop it. "Oh my God, I'd forgotten that. How do you remember this stuff?"

I shrug and push my hands into my pockets. "I remember a lot of things, Bella."

Her smile slowly fades, and she draws in a shaky breath. "So do I. More than I should."

I let out a defeated sigh and lower myself to a seated position on the rock. Bella slowly sits down beside me. For several long moments, we don't say anything. I stare out at the nature surroundin' us, tryin' to rid myself of the pit in my stomach.

"I'm sorry," Bella says after a while.

"Why're you sorry? You got no reason to be."

"I do," she says, tuckin' a few of her loose strands behind her ear. "I don't mean to keep doing this. I don't mean to keep hurting you. I just . . . I've done so many things wrong over the past few years. So many . . ." She looks out at the stream. "But I don't feel as badly about any of them as I do that night."

I exhale audibly and tip my head up to look at the sky. It's darker now, the orange and pink bleedin' into dark purple above us, tiny pinpoints of light startin' to pop up in the dark canvas. "You ain't hurtin' me, Bella Mia. I just hate that we both feel so completely different about the same thing."

"What do you mean?" she says, and I can hear she's facin' me, so I look over at her.

"You think 'bout that night and you regret it. You regret me." I pause, lookin' her over, memorizin' the lines etched into her forehead and the way her lips pout just right. "But all I remember is wakin' up. Realizin' that everything I thought I'd lost with Alice, I'd never really had to begin with. I'd been a walkin,' talkin' puppet, just followin' Ally 'round because she said she loved me. I was so desperate for that, that I ignored all the things that were wrong with us. But that night, with you, I actually _felt_ it. I felt what it could really be like. And I know it was only friendship between us, but it was so much stronger and truer than anything I'd ever had with Alice. It made me realize that I didn't need to settle. That I don't want to settle." I swallow. "And it kills me to know that that night, the one that saved me, that changed me so completely, that lead to makin' me into who I am today, is the one thing you'd go back and erase from existence if you could."

Bella stares at me, her eyes wide and glossy, her mouth open just a bit. I sigh and look down, clenchin' my lids shut tight. I'd thought about what this conversation would be like so many times in the past, but I never thought it'd come out of me like that. Everything I said was true, Bella had saved me, she had opened my eyes to what it could really feel like to be with someone I truly connected with, someone I could just be me with. No compromisin' who I am. No standin' in the background while she shone for the entire world in front of me. But standin' beside her so we could shine together.

I felt that with Bella. I felt that possibility. We'd only ever been friends, not once considerin' the idea that there could ever be more, but that one night had shown me more compassion and feelin' than any with Alice. And I wanted that.

I want it still.

There's a scrape against the rock beneath me, and then my entire side is engulfed in warmth. I can smell the strawberry and pecan scent of her, but I still don't open my eyes.

"I don't regret you," she says, quiet, barely even audible.

When I don't answer, she sighs, and then her warm hand is against my cheek, turnin' my face toward hers. I open my eyes, and even though darkness is quickly swallowin' the light, I can see the truth in her eyes.

"I've never regretted you," she whispers. "I've regretted what we did, that's true. But not because it was you. Because . . ." She shakes her head and her exhale shakes too. "Because what we did has the ability to destroy things that have always meant a lot to me. My relationship with Alice, maybe even with Em, Rose, and Edward too. But mostly . . . I regret how it's changed you and me. I regret how we can't just be what we used to be, how we can hardly even be around each other without feeling the effects of what that night has done to us. I regret how it stole my friend from me for the last four years." Her voice catches and she swallows against it. "I've missed him so much. I miss him still." She leans forward, touches her forehead to mine, and closes her eyes. "I miss you, Jasper."

I cup my hand 'round the side of her neck and her pulse races against my palm, her hair ticklin' my knuckles when it shifts in the breeze. "He's right here. I'm right here, darlin'."

She shakes her head but doesn't move away. "You look like him and you sound like him, but you don't _feel_ like him anymore. I never looked at him the way I look at you. I never thought about him the way I think about you. I never . . . I never wanted him the way that I want you." Her voice lowers to almost a whisper, and I can't breathe at all. "But to everyone else, you're still that Jasper. You're still Alice's and you always will be. How do I compete with that?"

I tighten my grip on her and pull her closer. I need her closer. "You don't need to. You've never needed to."

"But they're my friends."

"I'm your friend."

Her breath turns shallow and fast as it fans over my mouth, and mine matches it. She is so close now, only millimeters away, and I want to close the gap. I want to show her all the ways I think about her, all the ways I want her too. It's torture not to. It's agony to be this close and not take it.

"I shouldn't want you," she breathes. "Not like that."

And that's it; I'm done. I can't stop myself any longer. All this waitin' and wantin' and talkin', and I'm just done. My fingers twitch against her neck, and I lift my chin, and then all there is is softness and warmth and Bella. I'm lost in it, lost in her, and it's better than anything else in the world. Just her lips on my lips, her air mixed with my air, it's better. It's nothing more than a peck, a very slight brush of our mouths, but it's electrifyin', it's lightnin' coursin' through me times a million. It's everything and nothin' like I've imagined.

Bella pulls back with a gasp, but she doesn't move far. She stares down at me and I look up at her, and there's somethin' in her eyes. It's not what was there that night all those years ago. It's not the regret and the sadness. It's not fear and self-loathin'. It's . . . I don't know what it is, but it's on fire.

She lowers her hand from my face and raises it to her mouth. She touches her lips tenderly, like they're bruised or rubbed raw. And the action causes my heart to drop into my stomach. Is she goin' to run again? Is she goin' to push me away? Am I goin' to lose her for good this time?

"Jasper," she says, and then she meets my gaze. Darkness has crept in all 'round us, and I can no longer read her emotions, but I can still feel the spark between us. "You shouldn't have done that."

I open my mouth to speak, but she presses her finger against it, stoppin' my words. My heart pounds hard against my ribs. After a moment, her eyes lower and she runs the pad of her finger over my lips, before letting her hand drop to my chest. Her fingers curl into my shirt, and I feel them catch the chain of my dogtags.

I exhale, and this time it's my breath that shakes. "I'm sor—"

But I don't get to finish my sentence. Bella tugs against my tags, and our mouths collide again. Harder this time, but better. Better because it's her initiatin'. Better because she sighs in relief instead of gaspin' in regret. Better because I can feel her walls breakin' down 'round me. I can taste her surrender on my tongue. I can hear my name in her whispers when she breathes against me.

And I remember this. Her and me. I remember it all.

I remember it like we'd never stopped, like there hasn't been four years between then and now. I remember the way she feels under my fingers, how she arches up and closes her eyes when I touch her just right. I remember my name and her name minglin' in the air above us when they're the only words we know how to say anymore. I remember how tightly she holds on, how she doesn't let go until it's over. I remember why I never forgot her, and why I still can't.

Her arms wrap 'round my neck and she pulls me in closer, knockin' my hat to the ground in the process. I'm powerless as she presses up against me, straddles my hips, and kisses me again and again and again. I'm stripped raw and bare beneath her, and all I can do is revel in how warm and soft and perfect she is.

And then she opens her mouth, and I'm drownin'. Drownin' in the best way, the most perfect way, and I hope she never lets me breathe.

I wonder if she can feel what she does to me, if I do anything close to this to her. I reach up for her, and I try to show her. I try to let her know by the way I touch her, by the way I kiss her, by the way my body curves in 'round her. I try to tell her everything and nothin' at all. And I hope she knows.

I hope she knows that, while my hands hold her face, hers hold every single part of me. Because if she chooses to run away again, if she chooses them and her guilt and her regret, she's gonna rip all those pieces out and steal them away with her.


	8. Realize

****Disclaimer: All Twilight characters are the property of Stephenie Meyer. Only the words herein are the property of ddpjclaf 2013. Please do not copy, translate, or repost without express written permission.****

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**Chapter Eight - "Realize"**

_I'm sorry about not updating last week. The words just weren't flowing. Here we are this week though! Hope you enjoy. This one is less swoony though . . . that's what we get when we're in Bella's head, I guess. Sigh._

_This is un-beta'd as usual._

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I'm trying not to stare, to not even look, really. But it's hard when he looks the way he does, and _she's_ touching him the way she is. The things going through my head are very un-friend-like. Un-polite-person-like, too.

The fact that I hope her hand bursts into flames and falls off the next time she lays it on his shoulder or flails it around when she pretends she can't figure out how to hold a pool stick doesn't make me a bitch, does it? Because no matter what I've been in the past: a liar, a fake, I've never been a bitch.

But by the way I'm glaring at Alice, I'm starting to think that maybe I'm not the person I thought I was.

Technically, she's not being any different than she normally is. Alice has always been that sort of free-spirited, friendly, flirty person. She's that way with everyone: friends, co-workers, the mailman, the guy behind the meat counter at the grocery store. None of it should make me think anything other than that she is being herself and that she is genuine.

But seeing her do it to Jasper makes me feel something I haven't felt in a long, long time. Possessive. Jealous. Angry.

I throw back the rest of my drink and hiss at the way it stings my throat and makes my eyes water. But the pain is good, because it distracts me for that infinitesimal moment from wanting to break each of her fingers, one by one.

I really am a bitch.

"Whoa there," Rose says from the other side of the counter. "You keep downing that Sprite the way you are and I might have to cut you off."

I glare at her and gesture for another.

She chuckles and takes my glass to refill. "What's crawled up your ass?" she asks as she slides my now full drink back toward me.

I lay my head down on the bar and sigh. "Nothing. I'm just feeling pissy."

Alice's high-pitched laughter carries across the room, above the other noise and chatter. It raises my hackles and I groan, lifting my head and guzzling half my glass of pop before setting it back down.

Rose eyes me suspiciously, and then her gaze softens. "Are you all right, IzzyB? You haven't been acting like yourself lately."

I shrug and run my finger around the rim of my glass. "I don't know." It's the truth, I really _don't_ know.

Ever since Jasper's birthday, since I kissed him, I've been walking around in this sort of confused daze. My fight or flight response has been triggered, and, like always, my initial reaction is flight. But there's this other part of me—a small, almost microscopic part—that won't let me. I'd like to think it's me growing up, or "growing a pair", like guys like to say. But I think, more than anything, it's him.

Whenever I try to push thoughts of Jasper aside—to run away from my own mind—I keep coming back to the same image of him looking up at me, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes, and I can't miss the begging inside of them. I still feel his hands on my face and on my hips, the way his fingers dug into me, seemingly trying to hold me in place just a little while longer, his taste swirling around in my mouth. But most of all, I can't forget the way his voice sounded, how it was smooth and sweet, but how it was laced with all the openness and insecurity of a teenage boy, when he said, "Please don't run away again. I'll go slow. I'll go so slow. Anything you want. Just don't run."

And it's those words that keep me in this seat, even though all I want to do is go. I'm miserable being here, watching Alice prance around him the way she does. But he does something to me, something I can't explain, something I don't even know if I really _want_. All I know is I'm dying to be the one over there next to him, to be on the receiving end of his smile, to be the one touching his shoulder and being so carefree and light around him. But I don't feel like I can, like I should. Still. Even after the other night, after everything he said, what we both said, what we both did.

And so here I sit, so close, yet, so far away.

"You know, I was thinking . . ." Rose chews on the side of her mouth as she wipes the bar. "Maybe it's time you got out there again. You know, date."

I groan. "You've got to be kidding me."

"No, come on. I know it's a sore subject with you, after everything. But . . . it's been months, and I think you're better. Don't you?"

I eye her. "Emmett doesn't think so."

"Emmett is an ass. And I can say that because I love the big idiot."

I can't help the grin that pulls at my lips, but when Alice cackles again, my smile is gone and my jaw clenches.

Rose leans across the counter and lowers her voice. "You've never really talked about what happened between you and Edward, and I'm not going to ask you to now, especially considering he's my brother and I honestly do not want to know about his love life. But, Iz, regardless, you can't keep living in the past. You can't keep worrying about it and letting it rule your life. It's time to get out there and make real connections again. None of that one-night-stand shit you were doing last year."

I let out a sigh and knead my forehead between my fingers. She thinks my problem is Edward. She has no idea.

"You need to open yourself up and let someone in," she continues. "You know as well as I do that, even though you were together for two years, you never let Edward in completely. You pretended like you did, but I knew. He knew. I think that's why he became the way he did, and you became the way you did."

My gaze snaps up to hers. "So you're saying the fact that Edward and I were horrible together was all my fault?"

"You know that's not what I'm saying." She pauses. "He's my brother, so I'm more than aware of what a little shit he can be."

I roll my eyes and turn away, my gaze falling on the rest of our friends near the pool tables in the back. Edward and Kate are playfully arguing over which pool stick they want to use. Emmett is kissing his bicep and flexing. Alice has her head back and is laughing up into the sky at his antics. And Jasper . . . Jasper's standing behind them all—still behind—near the corner, his hand wrapped around a pool cue, and a small, amused smirk on his lips. Rose continues talking, but I can't stop looking at him.

Looking and noticing.

Although his stance is more confident, more sure, the fact that he is still situating himself behind Alice, behind everyone, speaks volumes to me about how much about him hasn't changed. Deep down, he's still the same boy, the same one who doesn't need to be the center of anything. He's not outspoken and daring, like Alice. He's not brooding and emotional, like Edward. He's not goofy and protective, like Emmett. He's . . . careful and giving, only like himself.

Maybe that means there's hope for me. Maybe that means that, somewhere deep down, I'm the same girl I used to be too—quiet and unsure, but also smart and caring—not this . . . this shell I've allowed myself to become.

" . . . you both brought out the worst in each other and that's what led to all the shit," Rose is saying. "But, B, you haven't let yourself be vulnerable with anyone since . . . Damn, since high school. Something happened between graduation and when you and Edward got together. Maybe it's time you figure out what it was that messed you up so badly and move on with your life."

"Hmm," I say, just to appease Rose. But I don't need to figure out what it was. I already know. I've known for four years.

I turn back to face her. "I'll think about it."

She gives me a small smile and then frowns at my drink. "You sure you don't want me to add a little something . . . better . . . to that Sprite?"

"Oh no." I shake my head and hold up my hand. "Alcohol and I aren't friends. You know this."

"This is true," she says. Another boom of laughter erupts in the back of the room, and she turns toward it, her eyes nearly rolling to the back of her head as she groans. "Oh, Good Lord, would you look at him?"

Rose gestures to the group of our friends, and I turn toward them, a choke of laughter catching in my throat. Emmett has his shirt pulled up over his abs and is encouraging the girls at the nearest table to feel them.

"See? Perfection, yeah?" he says. "So much better than this pretty boy here." He thrusts a thumb at Edward.

The girls giggle and he drops his shirt with a knowing smirk.

Rose groans. "I really don't know how I put up with that man. IzzyB, could you please do me a favor and go smack him upside the head? I can't leave the bar if I want to keep my job. And until I hear back about that engineering gig, I kind of have to pay the mortgage."

I snort and slide off the stool. "Sure, sure. It'd be my pleasure, actually."

"I'm sure it would. Just don't hurt him too badly. I might need him to have functioning brain cells later."

I wave behind me and start over toward our friends. Alice sees me and waves, and then Jasper looks my way.

And I can't turn away. It's like my eyes are somehow magnetized to his. They won't leave no matter how hard I try to avert my gaze.

His mouth quirks up into a small grin and his dimples push in just slightly. Suddenly, my heart is in my throat and I'm struggling to swallow around it. My stomach flips and twists and tickles, like feathers are fluttering against the sides. I've had crushes before—I've even tried to be in love—but I've never felt anything like this. It confuses, scares, and excites me all at the same time.

"Hey, Bells." Alice skips over to me, pulls me into a hug, and I feel like complete shit for how I was looking at her earlier. She steps back, her hands still on my shoulders. "You coming back to help me show these boys a thing or two about how to play?" She tilts her head back and then peers over her shoulder, grinning at Jasper.

I focus my attention on her, plastering my best fake smile on my face. "Actually, I'm here to deliver a message." Stepping around her, I move over to Emmett.

"Aww, hell," he grumbles.

I shrug my shoulders. "Sorry, but you should know better by now."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." He sighs and bends at the waist, so I can reach his head.

I bite back a laugh and slap him upside the head, lighter than I'm sure Rose would've done it. "Now, go apologize," I say. He nods and starts to jog away. "And mean it!" I call after him, chuckling at the goofy grin he flashes back to me.

Turning back to my friends, I notice Alice is engrossing herself in conversation with Edward and Kate. Jasper is alone—always alone—setting up the balls for the next game. Slowly, my heart galloping a mile a minute, I make my way over to him, stopping only when I reach his side.

"Hey," I say as I lean against the pool table. My voice is small, tentative, and I know I shouldn't sound like this when I talk to him, but I can't help it. He makes me so nervous, so unsure of myself. And the fact that all the people in the world that I'm not ready to show this to are standing within ten feet of us, makes it even worse.

Jasper looks up from his position bent over the table, and I expect his face to hold some of the uncertainty and restraint of mine, but it doesn't. He doesn't hold back at all and smiles at me. It's not one of those small, barely there, secret ones like before either. This one is big, sincere, and nearly takes up his entire face. This is real happiness. Happiness to see _me_.

"Evenin', ma'am," he says.

I resist a shudder. "Isn't it a bit early to be bringing out the 'ma'am'? You know how it affects the female population."

He chuckles and stands, then moves a little closer, his pinky finger brushing against mine and sending tiny, heated shocks up my arm. "My apologies, but a gentleman's gotta do whatever he can to gain the attention of a pretty lady." He leans in and quiets his voice. "And there's only one whose I care 'bout gainin' tonight."

My voice shakes when I answer, and I don't even try to hide the fact that I know he's talking about me. "You don't have to do anything to get my attention, you know that."

His eyes move from one of mine to the other. "Do I?"

Unable to speak, I nod my head once. Jasper looks down at where our hands are barely touching on the edge of the pool table. It's hardly anything, the slightest glance of skin against skin, but it's enough to warm me from the outside in. He brushes his finger along mine, and it's all I can do to keep myself from fidgeting. There are so many sensations emanating through me, just from that simple, almost non-existent touch. Jasper's shoulders rise and fall with his breath, and I almost can't resist the urge to wrap my arms around him, like I did the other day next to the stream, to put my mouth over his and breathe him in again. Fully. Completely. I'm nearly to the point where I can't stand the pressure building up inside of me, the incessant, smothering want that is slowly overtaking me, when he speaks again.

"I wanna touch you," he whispers.

My breath catches, as his words, which mimic my thoughts exactly, use my spine as a skating rink. I shiver and he looks up. There are parts of me—so many, many parts—that wish I could let him touch me too. Everywhere and all at once.

"You are," I say, almost breathless.

"Not like I want to."

I close my eyes and swallow, pulling my fingers a little further from his, just enough so we're not touching anymore. I can't handle how it makes me feel, how he makes me feel. The separation takes all the warmth and shocks away, and I immediately miss it. But I can't. I just _can't_. Not here. Not now. Not with everyone close enough to see, to notice, to _know_. And he deserves so much more from me. So much.

"Don't worry, Bella Mia," he says, his voice soft, and so understanding. Too understanding. "I won't."

I open my lids to see him still staring at me. His eyes are the brightest blue, but they aren't sparkling like they were before when he smiled. When he had nothing but joy to offer. Joy that I've just stolen away.

"Not unless you ask me to," he continues, and it's like a dare, like he's prodding me just a little, asking me to please, please just give him something.

But I can't.

I look down and shake my head. "I'm sorry," I whisper. And I am. I'm so goddamn sorry.

Jasper sighs and stands back up straight. He reaches behind him to the rack of pool cues and takes one down, handing it over to me. "Wanna play?"

I glance up at him, looking for any sign that I've hurt him again, but there's nothing. He's perfected the same blank look I have, and for some reason that makes me sad. I don't want him to be blank and numb, like me. I want him to be like him: thoughtful and expressive and a little bit shy.

This is why I shouldn't pursue this, him. This is why I'm better alone. Because all I do is ruin things and people.

Reaching out, I take the cue from him, my eyes never leaving his. I don't touch him, and I try to convey to him everything I'm thinking, without using any words. But I can't tell if he gets it or not, because he's shielding himself too.

"Oooh," Alice says, coming around to us and grabbing a cue of her own. She slings her arm around Jasper's waist and peers up at him, her eyes sparkling and her lips stretched in a giant smile. "Are we playing another game? Wanna team up, girls against boys, like the old days?"

I shrug, and say, "Sure," trying my hardest to hide how un-thrilled I am with the way she's touching him. Again.

As if he can read my mind, Jasper extricates himself from Alice's grasp and moves around the table to the other side where Edward, Kate, and now, Emmett, wait. He doesn't look back up at me, and I realize he's doing this because he knows it's what I need.

Kate fingers a pool stick for a second and, after a moment, tentatively pulls one from the rack. "Um, I think I should warn you, I'm not very good." She turns back to us, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"That's okay, baby," Edward says. "You'll probably still beat us because Bella's a shark."

I roll my eyes. "I am not."

Alice giggles and rubs a chalk block over the end of her cue. "Oh, come on, Bells. You know you can beat any one of us with your eyes closed. I mean, God, with all the time you spent in pool halls over the past year or so, you'd probably out play a professional!"

My cheeks flare and I lower my gaze to my hands, swallowing hard against the shame rising in my throat.

The area around us quickly hushes, when Emmett says, "Alice." The name said in a way meant to be scolding. "What the hell?"

"Emmett . . ." I say, but my voice is weak.

"What?" Alice glances up, her eyes darting from Edward to Emmett, her brows drawn together in confusion. And then she looks at me, and her face finally registers exactly _what_. "Oh, God, Bells. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it like . . . I wasn't thinking about—"

I shake my head and hold up my hand, because I don't want her to say any more. I already want to crawl into the corner pocket and disappear. My heart is racing against my ribs, the sound of my blood rushing in my ears, and sweat is starting to build on my palms.

No matter how much time goes by, no matter how much they all act like my past doesn't matter, like it's something we can all forget, we never really do.

I feel all of their eyes on me, all my friends, all their knowledge into why what Alice said was significant, why Emmett reacted the way he did, but I can also feel the one pair that knows none of it.

I slowly lift my gaze, and Jasper's is on me, his brows slightly pinched, his eyes questioning. He's looking at me and I can see him _seeing_. He's finally seeing who I am, who I really am, even though he doesn't know it. And I can't bear the thought of it. Of all people, he is the one person in my life that I don't want to know about my shame, that I don't want to look at me the way everyone else does, to think about me the way everyone else does.

The way that _I_ do.

Because sometimes I still feel like her. The numb, detached, relentlessly searching _her_, who used to frequent places just like this every weekend. Every night sometimes, just looking for something, anything to just make her _feel_.

It was at the pool table where she'd felt most confident, where she knew all she needed to do was bend just right, shake her ass just right, arch her back just right, and there'd be a number of them waiting and willing. All she had to do then was turn, meet one pair of eyes, smile, and then he'd be hers. More than willing to buy her a drink, to caress her face, to take her hand as she led him to the back room, to drown his grunts and sighs and groans of her name into her neck.

And then, moments after the high of feeling _something _faded away, after she'd left him at the bar with only her first name and a fake number, after she'd taken what she wanted and left him with nothing more, the guilt and self-loathing returned. Just like it always did, just like she always knew it would. But, somehow, that shame was better, more acceptable, than the one she'd been feeling for years anyway.

Yeah, sometimes I feel just like her again.

Like right now, with my friends giving me those knowing looks and talking around everything that happened before. And with Jasper looking at me and wondering what he's missing.

"Bella . . ." Alice says, and I finally glance over at her. Her eyes are large and the darkest gray, regret shining out at me.

My voice is stuck in my throat, because, even though I hate how they have to be like this, how they have to dance around and apologize for things that aren't their fault, for things that are mine and mine alone, I can't help but want to disappear. I let my gaze fall over each of them once more, feeling the anger in Emmett's scowl, the almost embarrassed reluctance in Edward's, the worried apology in Alice's, and then, worst of all, the protective curiosity in Jasper's.

He shouldn't be protective of me. He shouldn't even want to look at me.

My eyes sting and my throat tightens. I draw in a shaky breath and hold it all in the best I can. Alice reaches out for me, but I take a step back. I don't want her to touch me. I don't want anyone to touch me. My head starts to hurt with the restraint of holding back tears, and my throat is on fire.

Emmett's face softens and he takes a step forward. "Bells . . ."

I take another step back and adamantly shake my head. "Stop," I say, but my voice comes out hoarse. I clear my throat and look back up at them. Anger starts to rise up inside me, and my face heats once more. "Can't you all just stop? I'm not a child. I don't need you to tiptoe around me so you don't hurt my feelings or whatever. Just . . . God, _stop_!"

"Bella," Alice says, and when I meet her gaze, she taps her cheek, her eyes still filled with remorse.

I wipe my fingers across my face and they come away wet. I groan. "Oh, goddamn it!" And then I turn away and start toward the restrooms, without looking back at any of them, my face flaming now.

I hear Alice call out after me and Emmett telling her to just let me go. I push the bathroom door in hard and it slams against the wall behind it. My body is shaking with anger and embarrassment. I cross the room and rest my palms against the edge of the counter. Lowering my head, I close my eyes and draw in a few deep, steady breaths. When I open them, I meet my own gaze in the mirror above the sink. I look like hell. My face is splotched with red and my mascara has gathered into black puddles under my eyes.

I grab a few paper towels and wet them, dabbing at my eyes and trying not to wince as the rough paper scrapes against my sensitive skin.

I hate this. I hate every single second of this.

I know what my mother would say: "You made your bed, Bella Marie. Now you need to lie in it." And I know she'd be right, because, God knows, I've lain in enough beds. But I can't help but wonder if this shame and embarrassment will ever go away. Will I ever be able to outrun my past? Will I ever be able to look at myself in the mirror and not see "Backroom Bella" or "Bella the Betrayer"? At this point, it doesn't seem likely. Maybe I just don't deserve it. Maybe I don't deserve to ever be free of it.

After all, I did it all on my own. No one forced me to pick up those men. No one forced me to do with them what I did afterward. And no one forced me to kiss Jasper Whitlock on his front steps, then take him back to my room moments after my best friend had broken up with him.

No one but me.

When I look presentable enough, I glance back at my reflection, but even though I've cleared away the tracks of makeup and my face has returned to its normal color, it's all still there. All the nights with different men. All the lies I've told to my friends. They're all still hiding inside my eyes, and right now it feels like everyone can see them.

I can't go back out there. I can't pretend I'm having a good time, when it's all floating here on the surface, available to anyone who takes a close enough look. I have to get out of here. I have to run.

Straightening my shoulders, I turn toward the door, planning to turn right instead of left and exit out the back. But when I open the door, there's no escape, because leaning up against the wall is six feet two inches of blond cowboy. And he's going to be next to impossible to outrun.

My breath shakes as I exhale and come to a halt. The bathroom door swings shut with a thud and hits me in the back, shoving me forward slightly. Jasper doesn't say a word; he just looks at me. He looks right inside me. And that's almost worse, because maybe it'd be better if he asked, if he wanted me to explain, but he doesn't. He's just here, and I'm just here, and I want him closer.

But, instead, I turn away, making my way back to the alley exit. I hear his footfalls behind me, the click of his boots against the wood. Part of me is thrilled, my heart expanding beyond the measure of my chest. But another part is begging him to stop, to let me go, to forget everything he might think or feel about me. Because I'm not worth it. I'm not.

I shove against the heavy metal door and it creaks on its hinges as it slams open. I step out into the hot, musty-smelling alley and start toward the parking lot. Jasper continues on after me, not saying a word. And I can picture him there, his head bowed, his hands shoved in his pockets, following me, watching over me. The thought is too much and I freeze in place at the mouth of the alley. The air around us is full of moisture and clings to my hair and skin.

Jasper's footsteps stop a few feet behind me, and I draw in a breath. "You shouldn't keep chasing after me, Jasper. I'm not worth it."

"Well, I'm sorry, darlin', but I think that's just what I do now. I chase after you." His boots scuffle against the ground as he moves closer. His breath spreads across the back of my neck when he speaks. "And yes, you are."

I close my eyes. "You don't even know what I've done."

"I don't care."

I whirl around, anger burning in my veins. "Really? You don't care?" You don't care that I've spent the last four years, basically, as an emotionless, heartless user? You don't care that I took one of our best friends, faked my way through a relationship with him, made him fall in love with me, and then ran out on him because I felt nothing in return?" Jasper says nothing; he just stares down at me, his blue eyes just as fierce as my voice. "You don't care that afterward, I picked up half of Houston in pool halls just like this and took them into the nearest bathroom, car, backroom, empty hallway, anywhere, and had my way with them? You don't care about any of _that_?"

My chest is heaving when I'm done, and the shame has returned. Shame and regret for telling him all of that, for letting him see who I really am. But at least now he knows. At least he knows why he shouldn't be with me.

When Jasper finally speaks, his voice is quiet but has a sharp edge I've never heard from him before. "Do you care that, durin' my first tour, I shot three people in the back? Didn't even know I was there, just: bang, and they're gone. Never even had a chance to fight back. Do you care that in my second, it was my grenade that inadvertently killed two children and three women who were hidin' inside an enemy refuge? Do you care that the blood of countless others, innocent and guilty, are on my hands too? Do you care about _that_?"

The taste of exhaust and salt alerts me that my mouth is open. I close my lips and continue to look up at him. Selfishly, I haven't even thought about what Jasper went through over the last four years. I never even considered anything had happened, even though, realistically, I knew it had to have. One doesn't get into the Army and not experience anything life changing. I'm ashamed that the only thing I've been thinking about since the moment he appeared back in my life has been my guilt and myself.

Jasper looks up at me from under his lashes. "Does knowin' that make you see me different?"

My eyes roam over his face, taking in the slight crookedness of his nose, the long, dark fringe of lashes surrounding his clear blue eyes, the brassy gold color of his hair as the dampness of the air sticks to the strands. And there's not a single thing that looks or feels different about him.

I shake my head, and he reaches out, his fingers circling my wrist gently and sliding down to intertwine with mine. Goosebumps rise all along the path he touches.

"Then what makes you think anything you coulda done could change how I see you?" I avert my gaze, the inevitable humiliation over my past coming to the forefront, but then Jasper curls his finger under my chin and lifts. "Don't look away, darlin'." Slowly, I let my gaze meet his again, and his thumb brushes my jaw. "I don't care 'bout what you've done, Bella Mia. I don't care 'bout who you've been with. None of that makes me want you any less."

"You shouldn't want me," I say.

"Don't care 'bout should neither."

My breathing grows shallow, and my eyes drop to his mouth. I don't even know what to say about that, what to do. All I know is that I can't take my eyes off from his lips. I see his gaze do the same to mine, and my fingers tighten around his. I brush the pads of my fingers over the callouses on his palms and the small scars sliced through his skin from years of hard, honest work. These are the small things that make him, him, and that make him different, better, than any other guy who's ever touched me. My stomach flips and flutters, and my feet arch up without my permission.

Jasper doesn't move forward or dip his head, but his thumb continues to pass over my chin and jaw and, finally, my mouth. And I can't even describe how that feels to have him touch me that way, to know the roughness of his skin against some of the softest of mine, and how much I want to feel more. My lips part slightly, and I let out a trembling breath. Jasper swallows and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat.

"Bella . . ."

"Hmm?"

"Do you want me to kiss you, darlin'?"

My eyes dart up to his and my mouth falls open. "I—"

"'Cause I will," he says, his other hand coming up to hold my face, his eyes intent on mine. "I'll kiss you until you can't breathe, if that's what you want. But you have to tell me, 'cause once I start, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop."

My mind races with all the reasons why this is a bad idea, with all the excuses I've been telling myself since the moment I saw him again, because right now I don't want to think about any of them. Reaching up, I wrap my fingers around his wrists and raise myself up higher, until our noses are touching.

"Yes," I say. "I want you to kiss me, Jasper."

And then he does.

No hesitation, no question. Just his lips on my lips, his hands on my face, and mine holding onto him for dear life. And I'm reaching, my whole body, my whole soul is reaching for this, for him. I'm up on tiptoes, my neck craned as far as it can go, and he's curling in and over, protectively, holding onto me with a gentle but possessive grip. His fingers press into my jaw and cheeks, but his mouth is soft, so soft and warm and careful. And it's the same as the other night, the same as the first time, because he's the same. No matter what he's been through, no matter what either of us has been through, this is the same.

And it's so easy. So simple. So effortless to lose myself in kissing him, in touching him, in being kissed and touched _by_ him.

I'm so lost, so entranced by how he tastes, how he feels, that I'm not aware of anything else. Not the fact that it's started to drizzle and my hair's starting to frizz. Not that we're still standing at the opening of an alley, surrounded by dumpsters and loose trash and probably rats. Or the fact that, where we were once alone, a secret kept only for ourselves, the slam of the alley door and the sharp intake of breath behind us proves we no longer are.

* * *

_Uh oh. Who is it?  
_

_So now Jasper knows a bit about Bella's past, and she knows a little about his. Hmm…interesting…_

_A word about Bella: there have been quite a few comments from readers expressing how frustrated y'all are with Bella's inability to forget her past, to move on and just BE with Jasper. I completely understand that frustration, I promise I do._

_BUT._

_(Isn't there always a but?)_

_This is Bella's arc. This is the change her character needs to make, and this is exactly her part of the story. She must forgive herself and overcome. I know many of you are saying "why can't she just FORGET IT?" But she just can't. Perhaps what happened with Jasper seems like it shouldn't mess up her entire life, but it has. It really has. And it has because she's allowed it to—unconsciously._

_That moment made her think so poorly of herself, and she's just let it grow and grow and grow, until the only thing she could do to stop herself from feeling that guilt all the time was to shut off her feelings (the numbness she describes) and distance herself from her friendships with both Alice and Jasper._

_Many have been very curious about "what happened with Edward" but really, nothing major happened. Bella tried to be with him. She tried to open herself up and have a normal relationship, but she couldn't hack it. She couldn't feel anything for him that he deserved. It led to possessiveness from Edward and clinginess from Bella as she tried to be what she thought he wanted. That's it. It's not a story plot and has no bearing on her and Jasper._

_The men afterward…well, that was Bella trying to feel something. Obviously, it didn't work and just made her feel worse about herself. ;)_

_So, all this to say: yes, I understand your frustrations. I share them. But this is Bella. This is her part of the story, her plot, her "demon" to overcome. I hope you can stick it out and root for her, even when she makes you want to punch her in the throat (which she will continue to do, I'm sure!)_

_Until next time,_

_XOXO ddpjclaf_


	9. Realign

**Chapter Nine - "Realign"**

_I'm just going to let you get to this because this chapter is yummmmmm. ;)_

_It's as always un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Disclaimers are the same._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

It's over.

That moment of surrender.

That feelin' of "yes" and "thank you" and "Jesus" that came over me when she'd said she'd wanted me to kiss her.

The promised hint of holdin' on to what we want right now and lettin' go of past mistakes. Of indiscretions. Of sins we can't outrun no matter how fast we go.

With one stiffenin' of her back, one freeze of her tongue, one jerk of her face, one gasp and slammin' door echoin' into the night, it's all over.

Bella starts to move away, and my instinct is to grab onto her, to hold her here against me no matter how hard she tries to pull away. But I don't. I don't do anything my mind is screamin' out at me to do. Instead, I do the exact opposite, the thing I want less than droppin' dead right here at the end of this alley.

I let her go.

The moment my skin leaves hers, everything stops. My heart, hers. Her breath, mine. My hands hang in the air, fingers curled just as they were 'round her jaw, and I can't remember them ever feelin' so empty or so cold. I open my eyes and fix my gaze on Bella, and everything deflates inside me. Where I was once pumped up full, flyin', hopin', I'm now slowly floatin' to the ground. I can feel the air seepin' out of me, like someone shoved a pin into my side and is now pullin' it out.

Bella's starin' just over my shoulder, her eyes wide and frantic, her face as pale as a reflection of the moon. There's none of the openness that was there a few minutes ago. None of the vulnerability and resolve. Her shoulders curl in on themselves and all her open doors slam closed again. My lips ache with the coolin' wetness and memory of her mouth, and I can see me shinin' on hers.

Our connection only lasted seconds, and I don't want it to be over yet.

But she can't seem to get away from me fast enough.

Drawin' in a resigned breath, I let my hands fall, open and loose, to my sides and turn toward our discoverer. It's not at all whom I expect.

Kate stands at the pool hall alley door, her blonde hair whippin' in the wind, and her green eyes open just as wide as Bella's. A wave of disappointment washes over me, 'cause I think I'd been hopin' it'd be someone else. Someone who would force this game to change. Edward. Emmett. Alice, even. Not 'cause it'd be best for Bella, 'cause God knows she ain't ready for that, but 'cause I'm feelin' a bit like a selfish ass who doesn't want to hide this from anyone.

Kate's jaw drops, just as the door beside her opens and Edward steps out into the alley with her.

"Why'd you let it close, baby? I said I was right behind you." When Kate doesn't answer, Edward follows her gaze and frowns when his eyes land on Bella and me. "Oh, there you are. B, Ally's looking for you. She's . . ." His brows furrow further as he looks between the two of us, and I realize Bella and I are still standin' closer than we should. Closer than friends would. "What're you two doing out here?" Edward asks, and there's a hint of misgiving in his voice.

I hear Bella's intake of breath and the scuffle of her shoes as she moves further away from me. I get the feelin' that if she could do it without arousin' any more suspicion from Edward, she'd relocate to the other side of the parkin' lot.

"Nothing," Bella answers. "I was just leaving."

I turn 'round and catch a look at her face. It is completely wiped clean of anything that had been there just seconds before, like she's a different person, like nothin' besides what she wants people to see has ever happened between us. A cold wave washes over me, like she's just tossed a bucket of ice water over my head. Logically, I know she's actin' like this for Edward and Kate's benefit, but I can't help the feelin' of doubt that creeps into me. She's a good liar, but I wonder if they're the ones she's really lyin' to.

"Bells," Edward steps forward, and my eyes dart back to Kate. She's lookin' at me with knowledge gleamin' in her eyes. There's no doubt in my mind 'bout what she saw. She saw everything. "Don't go off like this. You know she didn't mean it like that."

"Like what?" Bella's voice is hard. "Like she isn't still judging me? Like you all aren't?"

I turn back toward her and am shocked to see she's tremblin'. Her cheeks are bright pink and her eyes are shinin' with anger. Her body is a stiff board that screams "stay away."

Somethin' builds up inside of me. Somethin' large and untamed, harsh and protective. It's new and foreign to me, and I don't know what to do with it. My hands clamp into fists at my sides, and I have to hold myself back from goin' to her or hittin' him. I can't decide which I want more.

"You know that's not what we're doing," Edward says with a defeated sigh.

"Do I?" Bella snaps. "How am I supposed to know that, Edward, when all you guys do is remind me? Emmett with his over-protective bullshit. Alice with her 'oops, I forgot we're not supposed to talk about this' comments. And you with those looks of disgust you try to hide." Her voice is quiverin' and I can tell she's tryin' not to cry. It undoes somethin' in me, and a side of me I never knew existed roars to life. "The only one of you who has ever actually let me off the hook is Rose."

"Oh, come on, that's not fair and you know it," Edward says, his face reddenin' too. "We're trying."

"Who asked you to?" Bella says, her voice loud and breakin' now.

"You did!" Edward roars, and it's suddenly clear to me what the others were talkin' 'bout when it came to Bella and Edward's relationship. There is passion between them, but it's dysfunctional. They're both hotheaded, both quick to anger. "You did when you came crying to us with bruises on your arms and blood on your mouth. You made us a part of it then, and now we're just supposed to brush it all under the rug like it's okay? Like we don't wonder every single day what the hell you've gotten yourself into now? If you're going back to it all? Your recklessness almost destroyed you once, Bella, and excuse us if we don't want to see you do it again."

"I don't need any of your fucking help or pity, Edward!"

"Goddamn it, Bella, wake the hell up and stop being so stubbornly stupid."

"Hey now," I say, steppin' between them, my hands fistin' tighter. "There ain't no need to call her stupid."

"Don't bother," Bella says, her words quieter, more resolved. I turn 'round to face her and she's lookin' straight at Edward, expression flat. "It's what he thinks. It's what they all think."

"I didn't mean it like that. I don't think you're—"

"Yeah, you do."

Edward says nothin' in return and clamps his jaw tight. I can't tell if she's right or if he's just grown tired of arguin'.

"I'm gonna go," Bella says and turns back toward the parkin' lot without waitin' for a response from anyone.

I reach out and wrap my fingers 'round her wrist. She freezes, and I say her name, softly, pleadin'ly. "Bella . . . wait."

"Let me go, Jasper," she whispers. "Just let me go."

It's the last thing I want to do. I want to pull her in. But I do as she asks and let my fingers slip from her skin. Her breath shudders when we finally separate, and I feel the loss of it deep in my gut. This isn't what's supposed to happen. This isn't how it's supposed to work.

Her eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, but there's nothin' there inside of them. They're blank and hollow, just like her. Just like me, now. I watch her as she turns away, as she walks further and further from me without lookin' back, and the emptiness inside me grows.

I'm aware of the murmur of voices behind me, the click of a door closin', and the tap, tap, tap of footsteps growin' closer, but my eyes are still fixed on Bella, still followin' her every move back to the truck. She opens the door and climbs inside, the engine roarin' to life just moments before she peels away. My eyes close, and my fists clench again.

"Are you all right?" Kate's voice dances across the divide between us.

I sigh and look up at the sky before turnin' back to face her. She's shorter than she looked before, only comin' up to mid-chest. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

Her eyes dart between mine, brows furrowin' slightly in the middle. "Look, I don't know what's going on between you and Bella—"

"Nothin's goin' on."

"That didn't look like nothing."

I swallow. "Maybe you don't know what you saw." I start to move 'round her, but her next words stop me in my tracks.

"Maybe not, Jasper, but from what I could tell, that's not the kind of kiss friends share on a daily basis."

My back stiffens and I close my eyes again. Openin' them a few seconds later, I turn back to face her. Her eyes are soft, sympathetic, and it's hard for me to stay defensive when she's offerin' me that.

I draw in a breath. "Are you goin' to tell him?" I gesture toward the door Edward went into. "Any of them?"

Kate shakes her head. "It's not my place." I start to exhale, when she speaks again. "But . . . I'm not sure keeping this a secret is the best idea."

I stare at her for a moment, thinkin' through the words I want to say. I agree with her, but I don't think Bella would. "Forgive me for bein' rude, Kate, but I don't know you from Adam, so why should I care what you think?"

"You're right," she says. "You don't know me, and I don't know you. But I do know Bella a bit, and I know . . ." She pauses, her voice lowerin' to just above a whisper. "And I know what she's done. To her friends. To Edward. To herself. So forgive me if _I'm_ being rude, but you don't. So that's why I'm telling you that keeping this a secret is not in your best interest. There are things you should know that I don't think she's told you. There are things _they_," she gestures back to the pool hall with her head, "could let you in on."

"How do you know she hasn't told me?"

Her gaze settles on mine once more. "Because you're defending her." She pauses. "You're defending her against them when they're only trying to help."

"Maybe what they're doin' isn't helpin'."

"Maybe not." Kate glances over her shoulder toward the door, then back at me. "But they're doing the best they can. Over the last eight months I've watched all of them suffer along with her. I've watched them try to pick up the pieces of her life over and over again. And I've watched her push them all away time after time after time." She shakes her head. "No, I haven't been here the whole time. No, I didn't know her when things went down with Edward, and I wasn't here for the majority of her . . . other issues. But I have the unique perspective of being an outsider looking in. And now, so do you. But you seem to be blinded by her and aren't allowing yourself to see the big picture."

I can feel my anger surfacin' again. "And what is that exactly?"

"That she's not merely broken, Jasper, she's still breaking. And from what I hear, she's been breaking for years." Kate looks up at me, her eyes shinin' in the wanin' light, and there's true empathy there, like maybe she knows a thing or two 'bout bein' broken, or carin' 'bout someone else who is. "So, I guess you have to decide, when she finally lets go and it all crumbles around her, are you gonna let her take you down with her?"

I stare back at her, and I tell her the only truth I've got. "If that's what it takes, I sure as hell will."

.o.O.o.

I can't get Kate's words out of my head the entire drive home.

_There are things you should know that I don't think she's told you. There are things _they_ could let you in on._

All of the things Bella said to me come rushin' back in, and I try to hear what she's not tellin' me inside them. I hear the way she describes her relationship with Edward.

_I took one of our best friends, faked my way through a relationship with him, made him fall in love with me, and then ran out on him because I felt nothing in return. _

I analyze the way she spoke about her indiscretions.

_I picked up half of Houston in pool halls just like this and took them into the nearest bathroom, car, backroom, empty hallway, anywhere, and had my way with them._

But no matter how much disgust and scorn and shame she put into those things, the one I feel the most pain from is the one in which she describes herself.

_I've spent the last four years, basically, as an emotionless, heartless user._

And those words tear me up, because I know that the catalyst for it all is me. Or us. The catalyst is us.

When I pull up to the front of the ranch, Mama has work for me to do. My brother, Peter, has the tractor stuck in six inches of mud out on the back thirty and needs help gettin' it out. So, I push my thoughts of Bella aside and climb on Maggie's back to make my way out there.

It take's a good hour and a half and a whole lot of physical labor to get Peter out, but the time is good for me, because for those ninety minutes, I forget.

I forget she's kissed me twice in the last few days.

I forget she's walked away both times.

And I forget that I'm the one that's ruined her.

By the time I make my way back and have Maggie fed, brushed, and put away for the night, it's nearin' midnight, and I'm starvin', filthy, and exhausted. The lights in the main house are off, which means I can't go raid Mama's fridge for leftovers, so I make my way back to the small cabin I've taken over since I came home. It used to be for field workers way back when the ranch was first built, so it is very plain, and only consists of one room. But I like the simplicity and the fact that it's separate from everything else. It gives me just enough privacy and reminds me of bein' in the barracks. It doesn't have the fifty plus men all congregated under one roof like that, but the fact that it's not much, that it's the bare essentials, gives me the same feelin'. For some reason, I like that. I don't need much, and this . . . this is just enough.

I make my way 'round to the back of the small structure to the shower Pa installed outside when my brother lived here before he married Charlotte several years ago. My body is caked in mud and sweat and probably several other things I don't want to think 'bout, and I can't wait to wash it all off.

After turnin' the water on to as hot as it will go, I strip out of my mud-caked jeans and shirt, shovin' them into the bin just outside the back door, and then step under the spray. The hot water instantly relaxes my over-tightened shoulders, and I press my palms against the slick side and lean into them.

I can't see the filth swirlin' 'round the drain at my feet, but I can feel it as it leaves. I wish I could clean my insides as easily as this mud, 'cause as much as I've seen, and done, and heard, I'm sure they're as black as tar.

Liftin' my head, I look up at the sky and follow the pattern of the stars. Last year, when I was deployed overseas and got a chance to lie down and rest while out on a several day long patrol, I used to stare up at the sky just like this, forgettin' 'bout the Kevlar under my uniform and the gun strapped across my chest, and think 'bout bein' right back here, the Texas sky big and bright above me. I'd often wondered if I'd made a mistake leavin'. If I shoulda thought 'bout my decision a little longer. But, the sad thing is, I felt more peace in my soul then, in the middle of that war-torn land, the world corrodin' all 'round me, gunshots echoin' in the distance and the bottom edges of the sky glowin' orange due to the fires burnin' in the nearby cities, than I do here and now.

There I knew what I was doin', what _I_ was fightin' for. Here, I'm not so sure. I thought I knew, but as the days go by and the struggle seems more and more impossible, I just don't know anymore. And I find myself missin' the days where I didn't have to think 'bout any of this.

I close my eyes and dip my head under the water, lettin' it run through my hair and over my face. It feels good wash to off the day, to clean myself of all the sweat and grime and stink. Too bad it can't wash away the rest: the uncertainty and confusion. The disappointment.

I stand under the water until it runs cold, though it almost feels better in the still-hot summer air. When I turn off the faucet, the moisture in the air sticks to me like glue and makes me feel like I need another shower. Steppin' out from the small enclosure, I grab a towel from a bin next to the back door and dry off quickly, wrappin' it 'round my waist when I'm through.

Cicadas chirp and trill, and the scent of wet hay and heat saturate the area 'round me, and I'm reminded again why I longed for this place when I was gone.

The door sticks and emits a loud crackin' creak when I push it open. Immediately, I recognize somethin's off. The usually dark space is lit by a small, warm glow, comin' from the area of the kitchen. I step slowly through the openin' in the door and reach for the shovel I placed next to it a few days before. My fingers curl 'round the handle, and I bring it up to my side.

The silence is thick and overpowerin', but it doesn't detract from the fact that this place is not as I left it. Mama made no mention of bein' here, and neither did Peter. And since Pa is still restricted, due to his heart, there's no one left who should be here. My combat trained senses are piqued, and I move forward cautiously.

My bare feet shuffle over the rough wood floorin', only coverin' an inch or so every few seconds. I already made enough noise openin' the door to wake a bear in hibernation, but nothin' is stirrin' inside the cabin. Still, I know better than to run in half-cocked.

My hand tightens 'round the handle of the shovel as I near the corner of the back entryway and prepare myself to peer 'round into the livin' space. I draw in a breath and ready myself to swing, and when I finally dart 'round the corner, my exhale pushes out without my permission. My fingers loosen automatically and all the tension in my body leaves the moment I see what's really up.

Sittin' atop a stool next to the small counter bar between my kitchen and livin' room, head restin' on her arms, eyes closed and earphone wires danglin' from her ears, is Bella.

Adrenaline still pumps through my veins, and I can feel my heightened awareness lingerin' in my muscles, but calmness starts to spread through me. Placin' the shovel back against the wall, I move into the small, open area of the cabin and cross over to where Bella sits. Faint strains of music come from the speakers in her ears, but her eyes remained closed and her breathin' seems even.

Part of me thinks maybe I should leave her, that I should just let her rest, but the other part, the larger part, wants to know why she's here. The way she left earlier, I wasn't sure when I'd see her again. She has a habit of leavin' and not speakin' to me for days at a time. I need to know why she's here now.

I take a few more steps forward, 'til I'm right behind her, close enough to feel the heat of her radiatin' against my skin.

"Bella," I say, quietly at first. She doesn't move, so I try again, a little louder this time. "Bella." Still, nothin'. I hesitate for a moment, and then I reach out and remove one of her earbuds. "Bella."

Bella jerks upright and kicks the counter under her hard enough to send the stool she's sittin' on tumblin' beneath her. I grab her as it thuds to the ground, and she reaches for me, her fingers diggin' into my upper arms. Her eyes are wide and frantic, her hair a mess of brown curls 'round her shoulders, a few strands stickin' to the sweat on her neck.

"Holy shit, Jasper, you scared the shit out of me," she says. Her hands slip 'round to my back, and the heat of her skin against mine wakes up a part of me that I don't need woken.

"I apologize for that, darlin', but you're the one in my house in the middle of the night."

"I know," she says. "And I'm sorry for barging in like this, but I needed to explain about this evening, and Mama W said I could—" Her hands slip a little further down my back, and her fingers brush my hip. She freezes, and I stop breathin' all together. "Jasper . . . are you . . . are you not wearing any clothes?" She gazes up at me, her brown eyes huge and dark.

I swallow and try not to let the fact that she's touchin' dangerously low on my body affect me. I don't think I'm succeedin' though, as heat is spreadin' through me like wildfire. "Well, I was wearin' a towel, but I don't think I am anymore."

Actually, I know I'm not 'cause I can feel the soft pile coverin' my feet.

"Oh God," Bella says, and clamps her eyes shut tight. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

I think she's goin' to push me away, but she doesn't. Instead, she curls her fingers into me and moves them a little lower 'til she's touchin' the very top of my bare ass. Her breath catches, and I think maybe I hiss a little.

"Oh. God," she says again.

"Bella . . ."

She doesn't respond with words, but, instead, trails her fingers back up, followin' the tensin' line of my spine. It's so slow and so light, but so intense, like fire is shootin' from her fingertips into my skin. And I'm revelin' in the burn.

I exhale slowly and try not to squeeze her back too roughly, but she's drivin' me insane, and I don't seem to be able to control my actions. I grip her as hard as she's bein' soft and pull her against me. Everything inside is tightenin', like a rubber band gettin' ready to snap, and I wonder if she knows. If she has any idea what she's doin' to me.

I want her to touch me harder, softer, up, down. I want her mouth open 'round my tongue, on my throat, on my chest, lower, _lower_, so much lower.

My control is hangin' on by a hair, but she's still touchin', her fingers movin' up my back, to my arms and down and 'round, 'til she brushes my waist and ribs, and I'm on fire again.

I close my eyes and my breath shudders when I let it out. My hands fist into the fabric of her shirt and I walk her backwards 'til she hits the edge of my counter. I hear her breath catch, but I don't care. I'm not thinkin'; I can't think with her hands on me like this. But I love how she touches me, and I need her to do it more, anywhere, everywhere.

Her fingers trail my stomach, the ridges of my hipbone, the patch of sensitive skin just above where I'm dyin' for her. She's teasin', and it's so soft, lighter than a feather, lighter than air, but I can't get enough, even though it's agony for her not to just wrap her hand 'round me. But I don't push; I don't move, 'cause I love the way she's killin' me.

She's breathin' hard but shallow, and the warmth of it spreads across my neck and collarbone. Every few seconds I feel the hint of her lips and the wetness of her tongue on my skin, when she darts it out to moisten her mouth. She's not kissin' or tastin' me, but, goddamn, I wish she would.

My fingers dig into her, and I lower my hands to the outside of her hips, feelin' the way they curve out, so round and smooth and perfect. And then I'm reachin' down further and liftin' her up. Liftin' 'til her ass is on my bar and I'm wedged squarely between her thighs. She lets out a squeak of surprise, and I peer up to see her starin' down at me.

Her eyes are darker than before, and the way she's lookin' at me tells me everything I need to know 'bout what she's thinkin', what she wants. We don't need words, maybe we never have. I curl my fingers through the loops on her shorts and tug her into me, hard.

Her shorts have ridden up her legs, and I lower my hands to run over the expanse of her smooth, bare skin. I bite back a groan at how she feels against me, underneath me, all 'round me. She digs her nails into my biceps when my fingertips slip inside the opening of her shorts.

And I remember this. Her and me.

I remember how she felt wrapped 'round me. How she held on, just like she is now, her hands grippin' my arms, her tremblin' thighs pressin' into my sides, feet crossed behind my back to keep me tight against her, her body takin' me into its warm and soft and wet over and over. And I want it to take me again.

I want her to take me again.

Right now, I don't care that she walked away from me again. I don't care that she won't acknowledge me in front of our friends. I don't care that she's ashamed of what we did in the past. I know I should. I know I should care a lot. But I don't. I only care 'bout this, this moment, this feelin', this heat, this connection.

I reach up for her, my mind and body in complete sync with what I want, what I need. But when my hand cups her neck and I pull her down, my mouth only centimeters from hers, my breath and her breath minglin' into one, she presses her hand to my chest, her fingers curlin' round my tags, and whispers my name, so quietly, I barely hear it above the sound of our breathin' and the beatin' of my heart.

"Jasper . . . wait. Stop."

I stop, 'cause I'm still a gentleman, even when I'm all worked up. But I don't move away.

"We can't do this," she says, her voice still that almost non-existent whisper. "_I _can't do this."

And it's like I'm a deflatin' balloon once more. She keeps blowin' me up and poppin' me over and over again. I let out a defeated breath and close my eyes, lowerin' my head and my hands at the same time. I grip the counter to each side of her hips and squeeze so hard the rough edge digs painfully into my palm. My head presses into her chest and I can feel her breaths stirrin' my hair. I want to lift my face and take them from her, fill myself up with her air and give mine back to her. I want to beg her to reconsider, to just _be_ with me right now, right here. But I don't. I just breathe, in through my nose, out through my mouth, but her scent engulfs my senses and I want to scream at how much I want her. She's right here in front of me and I'm right here in front of her, and I want her to want _me _back like this so much it hurts. She lifts her hands and threads her fingers through my hair, and it feels so good and right I can't understand why she wants to stop.

"I need to explain, but I can't do it like this. With you . . . like this," she says, and I hear her swallow. "So, I'm going to close my eyes until you get that towel back on, and then I'm going to go outside so you can get dressed." She pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice is uncertain. "Will you meet me out there?"

I nod my head, and I don't even wait for her to tell me she's got her eyes closed. I don't care if she sees me. I've never cared. Bendin' down, I snatch my towel from the ground and wrap it back 'round my waist.

"All set," I say, avoidin' her eyes.

"Okay," she says, and with a sigh, she slides down off the counter and makes her way 'round me. The tension I feel when she passes is enough to make me clench my fists. "I'll be right outside," she says, and I feel her reach out for me, the heat of her lingerin' hand hoverin' above my shoulder shoots though me like lightnin'. But she doesn't touch me. Instead, she lets it drop to her side and leaves without waitin' for my response. I close my eyes and swallow when I hear the click of the door behind her.

I wait a moment for my body to calm, but my hands are still shakin' when I grab my boxers, jeans, and a t-shirt and hastily slip them on. Never has a girl affected me like this. I've been turned on before; I've even been left unsatisfied. But this gives a whole new definition to the term. My whole body aches with it, and I can't seem to calm it enough to stop it from tremblin'.

After I'm dressed, I make my way outside to where Bella waits. She's sittin' on the tailgate of her truck, starin' up at the stars. Pieces of her hair come un-tucked from behind her ear and drift in the breeze, brushin' across her throat and collarbone, kissin' her light and soft the way I want to.

Slowly, I walk over to her and stand with my back pressed to the open gate, her legs danglin' next to me. My hips and waist are still warm from where she had them wrapped 'round me, and it's hard to stand here and not touch them. I don't say a thing, and neither does she for several long, torturous moments.

And then she sighs. "Sorry isn't enough, is it?"

I shrug, because I honestly don't know anymore. I don't know anything.

"Well," she says, and her voice is soft, quiet. "I don't think it is, but I want to say it anyway." She exhales, and I feel it on the back of my neck. "I'm sorry, Jasper. I'm so sorry. For earlier, for just now."

I close my eyes for a moment and open them again. "Ain't nothin' to be sorry for, Bella."

She scoots further down, 'til her shoulder brushes mine. "There's everything to be sorry for," she says.

I finally look over at her, and she's starin' right at me. Even in the dark I can tell her eyes are bright, sincere.

She bites her lip, and when she speaks, her words come out rough. "You can't know how much I want you. How much I wanted you," her eyes dart to my cabin, then back at me, "in there."

My breath sticks in my throat.

Bella leans in and presses her lips to my cheek, lingerin' there, like she's breathin' me in, the way I've wanted to breathe her in all night. Then she pulls back once more, and my skin burns from her touch.

"But, Jasper, I don't deserve to want you. And I certainly don't deserve to have you."

I open my mouth to protest, but she touches her finger to my lips.

"I've spent a lot of years using people. A lot of years taking things I don't deserve." Her finger brushes my mouth as it falls away. "But I won't do that to you. I won't use you. When I have you, I want to deserve you. I need to."

"Bella, you don't need to prove anything to me."

"Maybe not," she says, lowerin' her head and lookin' up at me from under her lashes. "But I need to prove a lot to myself." She reaches out and touches my face, her fingers trailin' along my jaw. "I need to prove to myself that I can do this. That I can want somebody for more than sex. That I can function like a normal human being and have feelings and act on those _feelings_ and not just lustful desires."

"Lustful desires can be fun."

Bella smiles, but it's small and doesn't reach her eyes. "Yes, they can. But I won't let it be about that with you, and I'm afraid if we . . . if we . . . get physical too quickly, that's what it will be about."

"Bella, it won't—"

"It might be for me," she interrupts, and there is so much shame in her words it actually causes a physical pain in my chest. "It might be . . . because that's all I know, Jasper. And I don't want that to happen to us."

I watch her for several seconds, marvelin' at how the moonlight washes out her hair but makes her eyes shine. "Okay," I say. "But where does that leave us now?"

Bella reaches out and takes my hand, her fingers fumblin' with mine as she watches how they slip and slide between one another, how they fit just perfect. "I need some time to figure out how to tell everyone. I . . . I don't know how to do it yet."

I sigh and glance back out to the dark pasture. "And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime . . ." She tucks a finger under my chin and directs my face back to her. "In the meantime," she breathes. "I'll make you more muffins in the morning, and then you teach me how to ride a horse." Her eyes meet mine in the dark, and I can see the truth and surrender inside of them. But this time, it isn't a bad thing. "And then we get to know each other again. For real. One day at a time. No holding back."

"No holdin' back?" I say, cuppin' my hand 'round her neck once more and pullin' her down to me. Her warm breath washes over my mouth and I can already almost taste her.

Bella shakes her head, and her lips brush mine with every pass. "Nuh uh."

I lift my other hand and hold her face between my palms. "Is it okay to kiss you now, Bella Mia?"

"If you don't, I'm just gonna kiss you. And I think I've done enough kissing you, don't you think?"

I smile as I lean into her. "I don't think that's possible, darlin'."

And, under the blanket of stars dottin' the expansive Texas sky, surrounded by chirpin' cicadas and croakin' bull frogs, and swallowed up by the insufferably damp Houston summer heat, I do.

I kiss her.

And when it feels like I've swallowed all her breath and she's swallowed mine, I kiss her some more.

* * *

_Until next time,_

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_


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